And We Have Sinned
Chapter Five: UnGod
Author: Dizzy
"And in the darkness all that I can see
The frightened and the weak
Are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of
At mercy are the meek. "-Sarah Mclachlan "Black"
~*~*~*~*~
It was an eternity before Draco finally managed to pull back into some semblance of reality. He
yanked away, holding the girl at arms length.
He was quite sure he had never found himself in such a state. His chest rose and fell sharply with
each intake of strangled breath, and his lips burned with an intensity that matched the pain that
was so frequent in his chest.
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes were wide, both with shock and disappointment. He shook
his head to clear it and then locked eyes with her again.
"You shouldn't have done that." He whirled. Behind him Hermione took a step forward, her arm
stretched out as if to reach him. But nothing could reach him now. The door slammed behind
him.
She really shouldn't have done that she reasoned. It had been a silly stupid thing to do. Kissing
Draco Malfoy was on par with romancing the devil. But the devil couldn't kiss like that.
Instinctively her fingers went up to brush her lips, a gesture that many girls had done in many
situations. But she was quite certain none of them had been kissed like that.
He was all restrained passion, and she could feel his restraint as he moved his lips over hers. It
was like he was mimicking every gentle, tender thing he had ever seen.
But it would never happen again.
Hermione barely slept that night, so plagued was she with the events of the past few days. Her
lips still burned from his kiss, and when she licked them she could still taste him there.
But that lasted only a few hours, and then all she could taste was her salty tears.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie roused her as she often did, a fact Hermione was becoming increasingly used to, and
dressed her in silence. It had been three days since that night and she had seen not a hair of
Draco anywhere.
Kylie brushed her hair without a word and then steered her towards the door. She didn't know if
Draco had talked to Kylie or not, but she didn't think that was the source of the girl's closed lips.
Kylie was scared of something, and whatever it was Hermione felt she was better off not
knowing. After all ignorance was bliss they said, a fact she had never let herself belief.
Knowledge was power was more like it.
Draco was not at breakfast, yet again, and the steam from his soup, rising up into the air was a
painful reminder of that.
He was not in the library, but she saw that he had given up all discretion. The books on the
Tempero Curse had not been cleared away, some still open to the pages he had been reading last.
It was as if he just didn't care what she thought anymore.
Which she supposed he didn't. She already knew what he had been hiding. She knew why he had
done this. She also knew none of it was his fault.
Hermione turned, prepared to try to find him in one of the more secret rooms of the castle, when
the door to the library burst open.
It seemed she wouldn't have to look for him after all. Her heart swelled, and she almost smiled.
His hair was disheveled, his cloak on a bit sideways, but her almost smile faded to nothing when
she saw his face. It was almost frightened, a bit desperate in it's drawn, gaunt features. His
cheeks were flush with exertion.
"What's wrong?" A question she had asked many times.
"My father is here," he was slightly out of breath, leaning against the chair. Her eyes widened.
"Why?"
"I don't know. He said he would come for you." Hermione crossed the short distance between
them.
"What do we do?" She whispered. Draco shook his head.
"There's nothing we CAN do," he said. "There's no way out."
"But we have to do something," Hermione was frantic now, her hands reached out, grabbing the
front of his cloak. Her eyes travelled upwards, locking with his own, her voice bordered on
frustration. "Tell me what to do." Draco looked down at her.
His eyes, that beautiful silver gray were filled with more emotion then she had ever seen in
them. Sadness, regret, desperation, they flickered in the depths of them until there was nothing
but the usual blankness.
"We go to him," Draco grabbed her wrist. "There's no other way."
Hermione pulled her self against him, her heels digging into the floor, rearing backwards as she
tried to pull away. Going to Lucius went against everything she wanted to do. But Draco was
stronger, and he was determined.
"Let me go," she hissed. "Let me go!" This time it was a shriek. But he did no such thing. Instead
he tightened his grip, his fingers digging between the delicate bones of her wrist and started
towards the door.
Hermione stumbled briefly but didn't fall. She just allowed him to pull her. It seemed a habit
with him, dragging people around by the wrists.
They made their way down dark corridors, through the maze of hallways. Somewhere in the
middle of it all his grip on her wrist lessened, moving downwards to grasp her hand. It was a
desperate act, one of many share between them. And Hermione knew he was afraid. In fact she
had never seen him in such a state.
His eyes were steadfastly forward, his stride quick and determined, as if he was forcing himself
to take every step. As if he was hurrying to their fate before he changed his mind.
She squeezed his hand a bit as they went, and felt a flash of ease go through her as he returned
the pressure. But it was short-lived. For they had reached thier destination.
It was the study.
Draco pushed open the doors with no preamble and yanked her inside, his hand leavings hers to
snap around her wrist once more, midstride. She knew it was necessary. His father would not
tolerate anything more.
Lucius was in the middle, perched lazily in the high back leather armchair, his feet propped, one
crossed over the other on the ottoman. He smiled when they entered, gesturing towards Draco to
close the door. He looked like a man who had all the time and patience in the world.
Draco released her, his eyes never meeting her face and went to do just that.
"We have a very important task ahead of us today children," Lucius sat up, his smile growing. He
turned the full force of that malicious grin on her then, causing her to flinch and look away. He
lowered his feet to the ground, planting them firmly. "And you my dear are the most important
of all." He stood up then. "Come." Draco obediently took a step towards his father, and then
reached behind him, yanking Hermione over.
They formed an odd circle, one evil and vindictive, one pure and bookish, one caught between
two extremes. Lucius took off his glove, stuffing it into his pocket.
"Hold out your hand." He commanded. Draco did so without hesitation. And then Hermione did
so as well. With his ungloved hand he pushed Draco's down to touch Hermione's. Then with the
other, reached into his robe and took out another of those glittering blue orbs. His hand lowered
to Draco's resting just on top of it, and then he dropped the orb.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her wrist burned from the pressure of his fingers, so like Draco's, but much harder and he was
close to ripping her arm right out of the socket as he yanked her along the narrow corridor
towards his own destination. She was struggling to keep up. Lucius was much taller then her,
with legs almost as long as her entire body and it was almost impossible to match his long-
limbed stride.
But she was managing. She could hear Draco's boots just behind her, keeping his distance but at
the same time remaining as close as he could without arousing Lucius's suspicion. She wanted
nothing more then to reach back and grab his hand, but of course it was impossible.
Lucky for her the journey didn't last very long. Lucius paused before a pair of large oak doors,
much like the ones that led into their library. The barest pressure from his hand had them
swinging open and he dragged her inside. Like his son he did not waste time with details, but for
the first time in her whole life Hermione was thinking of Draco as almost gentle in comparison.
The room was sparsely furnished, with only two large overstuffed armchairs as furniture, and a
few well placed candelabra's for lighting.
For some reason it wasn't surprising that Narcissa herself was seated in one of them, her legs
drawn up beside her. She didn't look up when they entered, nor when Lucius pushed the girl he
was dragging into the chair across from her. She just smile dreamily at the ceiling, one hand
splayed across the bulge of her belly. It was bigger then the few days before, but Hermione knew
that was impossible.
Hermione saw Draco cross the room to stand at the back, his shoulder's tense, his expression
wary. His eyes flittered across his mother, taking in her protruding stomach, his eyes widening a
bit with confusion. Lucius was standing between the two chairs, and from deep within his robes
he withdrew two small flasks, hiding them in his hands. Hermione sucked in a breath, for he was
grinning.
"Drink," he handed her one of the flasks, and gave the other to Narcissa, who had just now
realized he was there, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Drink," he repeated to her, and she nodded,
gracefully removing the cork stopper. Hermione looked at her own. The liquid inside of it was
thick and murky, but a beautiful robin's egg blue, shiny in the dim light. She took uncorked it.
She watched Narcissa tilt the flask back, the thick substance flowing into her mouth.
This seemed to strengthen Hermione's resolve, she too tilted back the flask, putting it to her lips.
It tasted of soap. Sweet but burning as she swallowed it, knowing that if she did NOT drink it
Lucius would kill her, and if she did there was only a slight chance it was poisoned. This was the
lesser of the two evils she reasoned. So she drank down the soapy liquid wincing slightly at the
taste.
Draco took a step towards her, but Lucius's eyes on him stopped his stride, and he faltered in his
step.
"You're here to observe Draco," Lucius's tone was cold. "Not interfere." Draco said nothing,
merely stepped back, resuming his position against the wall, his eyes on Hermione. She saw out
of the corner of her eye that he was very much ready to strike, powerless to do anything, and
frustrated because of it.
She drank until she could drink no more. It seemed to overtake her, making her so weak the
flask dropped from her grip and sending glass across the floor. She fell back against the cushion
of the chair, her vision swimming. She could just barely make out the blonde figure of Narcissa
mimicking her actions. But Narcissa did not drop her flask, it merely settled in her lap, falling to
the corner of the chair. Hermione's head turned up towards Lucius, and she could make out his
malicious grin through the haze.
"So it begins," he whispered. He took a step towards the two women, his hands out. He placed
one on Hermione's head pushing her back farther into the cushioning, and one on Narcissa's.
"Watch boy," he said to his son, his eyes concentrated on the women. "This is your mother's
salvation." Draco took a step forward, but did not try to stop him. To do so would mean death.
Perhaps for all of them.
k voice was low, and Hermione couldn't make out the words through the cloud that had
descended over her. But it wasn't English. Perhaps Latin but she couldn't be sure.
His voice was almost soothing in it's murmuring, and she felt her eyes fall closed, giving into the
dark. But her peace was short-lived.
The murmuring increased in volume, in strength. The pain was brief at first, lancing through her
skull, traveling down her spine. She spasmed, her eyes snapping open and Draco took another
step forward.
Lucius ignored him, continuing, his voice snapping with the force of the words, his grip
increasing. His fingers dug into her skull, pulling her hair taught beneath them. And then there
was the light. Draco opened his mouth to cry out as it began, green is your moth and ominous,
rising up from his mother, who was considerably more at peace then Hermione. She simply sat
there, eyes closed, in her chair, but sweat dotted her brow, and he saw her hands clench at her
sides, one gripping her belly. Hermione spasmed again. And the light grew brighter. It filled the
room with a green glow, casting them all in ghostly shadows.
"Stop it," Draco snapped, but Lucius ignored him, continuing his chant, repeating something
unintelligible over and over as he went. He was in a place Draco could not reach him. A place
Draco could not stop him. Lucius's arms were shaking from the force, and Hermione spasmed
again, her mouth opening, her breath coming in short gasps. They were raspy and gargling, and
occasionally she would wheeze from the pain.
"STOP IT," Draco yelled, but they were trapped in their own world, something he couldn't
penetrate. The light intensified, Narcissa's back arching off the chair, her head lolling to the side.
It seemed to be coming from her, and he watched in horror as it traveled up his father's arm,
bright and horrifying. Narcissa let out a scream, her body jerking in pain, but still Lucius went
on. His eyes were bright and glowing, his voice a steady stream of words. The green of the light
made him horrible to look at, a devil at his work and Draco felt his stomach turn. This was his
father.
Dimly Draco heard Hermione scream in his head, but he couldn't take his eyes off the light. It
seemed to move faster up Lucius's arm, and he saw his father tremble for a moment, but his
concentration didn't break. Hermione screamed again, Lucius's fingers digging into her skull
with every word, bearing down on her, pushing her farther backwards. The light continued to
travel up Lucius, and then it jumped, seeming to flow seamlessly from one arm to the other in a
long string of green. Lucius continued, shaking from exertion and the light traveled downward,
forming a rounded ball once more. Hermione jerked against Lucius's grip, her knuckles white
against the green of the chair. His mother seemed to have relaxed, her eyes opening, once hazy
now suddenly full of expression, one of horror and understanding. He saw her jerk against
Lucius's grip, trying to reach Hermione, but it was to no avail. Lucius was being controlled now
by the words coming from his mouth, and he was stronger then anyone could imagine as he
continued. Draco could feel his power coming off of him in waves, it cast his vision in it's
blackness for a moment and Draco blinked trying to clear it. Hermione screamed against, her
legs kicking out as she struggled. The light continued to travel downward.
Draco stepped forward again, knowing he couldn't stop it. His eyes caught his mother's just
before she closed them. In their silver depths he could see her sorrow, her remorse, but also a
little bit of the mother he had almost forgotten. Lucius continued, his voice gaining in strength as
the light traveled further down, until it reached her. Hermione screamed again.
It echoed off the walls, and Draco felt ill once more from the sheer pain of it. The light seemed
to consume her, making her sickly green, her body jerking upwards, almost rising off the chair as
it entered her. And then it was gone, and Lucius dropped his grip.
It took just a second of shock before Draco ran to her, and she slumped into his arms
unconscious.
"It is done." Lucius's breath came in short gasps. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. But he
looked triumphant, flush with power. Draco glared at him, gathering the girl into his arms. She
was limp, but still breathing, and Draco clutched her too him.
"What did you do?" Draco demanded. Lucius's face broke into a smile.
"What I had to."
~*~*~*~*~*~
How they got back was a blur to Draco, he couldn't remember if he'd tried. But they were back at
The Winter Palace nonetheless, Hermione cradled, still unconscious in his arms.
She was pale, too pale, and his mind kept flashing back to the light, the bright green light that
had passed from his mother to her, through Lucius. His blood went cold. He knew what it meant,
it all fell together. The ritual, the light, his mother's eyes, fresh and new again, shining with
clarity. His mother's burden had passed to Hermione.
He carried her down the hall, ignoring the worried look on Kylie's face as he passed her in the
dark corridor. He ignored her footsteps, soft and pattering behind him as he walked to
Hermione's room.
He knew why Lucius had wanted her. He closed his eyes briefly, clutching her closer. There was
a battle warring within him. On one side was the desire for her to wake up, the desire to see her
eyes again, and on the other was the need to keep her sleeping. She should not awake to this.
Kylie appeared at his side to open the door, holding it open as he carried the limp girl into her
room.
"Is she-," Kylie took a step forward, her breath catching. She couldn't finish the question. Draco
shook his head.
"No." He crossed to the bed, laying her gently on the mattress. "But I'm sure she'd rather be after
she wakes up." Kylie's eyes widened.
"Did he-," again she couldn't bring herself to finish the question. But Draco knew regardless. He
shook his head again.
"No. It seems that is your burden to bear," He pulled up his old cloak, and the tattered moth
eaten blanket, tucking them around her still form. "He did something much worse today."
"What?" Kylie clenched her hands together. There was nothing worse then the fate she had in
mind. Nothing. Not in her eyes. "What did he do?"
"He cursed her," Draco closed his eyes, kneeling beside the bed, clutching Hermione's hand in
his own. "He cursed her." He repeated. He heard Kylie's breath catch again.
"Will she live?" Draco nodded.
"But she will not wish to." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his finger
lingering there, moving down her cheeks.
"I..." Kylie was at a loss. "I will leave you now." And she did. Draco said nothing, he could only
kneel there, marble bearing on his knees as he did, staring at her. His mother was free now, but
at this expense. No more would her thoughts plague her, for they had a new victim.
He had known it could be done of course. He had read about it long ago, and the process was not
a difficult one. But one had to have a willing victim. Which Hermione had been. He sucked in a
breath as he felt her stir against his hand, which had idly been stroking her cheeks. Her eyes
fluttered.
"Dra-" she murmured.
"Shhhh," he felt his eyes burn as hers blinked open, they were a bit dazed, and pained, but
otherwise clear. It was still early yet, she was still young. His mother had lived with the burden
for years, for decades.
"What did he She whispered. "My head..." Draco nodded, understanding.
"He-" he choked on his words, and tried to push the girl back as she sat up, her hand reaching up
to clutch his.
"Tell me." She whispered.
"He gave you her visions," Draco said, and his voice cracked. Hermione looked at him confused.
Her head felt heavy, as if something was weighing upon it, and somewhere, something had
stirred inside of her, something locked away. Something that was not supposed to be awake.
"Your mother's?" She blinked. "I don't understand." Draco rose, and she released his hand as he
made his way across the room, yanking the chair over to the bedside. She turned to face him,
drawing the blankets up across her legs. She watched as he fell into the chair, worry had creased
his otherwise handsome face, it had furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes making him look
years older then his seventeen. She felt her heart increase it's beat.
"My mother-" he began, and swallowed. "Has seen things all her life."
"Seen what things?" He held up a hand, silencing her. She supposed he would answer her
questions, she nodded, forcing herself to be patient. Her head had begun to throb, but it wasn't
painful, it was just strange.
"She's had visions," Draco continued. "Dark visions. They drove her quite mad." Hermione's eyes
widened. "They were what made her weak." Draco said softly.
"And Lucius gave them to me." Draco nodded.
"Yes," Draco said softly. He sighed. "I think that's why he had me take you." Hermione
understood. Her hand reached out across the distance to him, grabbing his in her own.
"It's not your fault," She whispered. "It's Lucius's." Draco shrugged.
"It might as well be mine."
They sat there, hands clutched together, at a loss.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco's feet could not move fast enough down the corridor, and they pounded in his ears, heels
on marble. He could hear her screaming, the screams of such terror, of such horror it made his
heart pound in his chest, overpowering the sound of his boots.
It was more of a shrieking then a scream. A shrieking of words he couldn't make out.
He burst into the room.
She was on the bed, her back arched, her hands clawing at air. Then at her hair, ripping it out
strand by strand as she dug into her scalp.
"No," Draco was across the room in three quick strides, gathering the girl into his arms,
clutching her own by her sides. "Stop it." He commanded. But she wasn't listening. She was
stuck, in the throes of a force more powerful then he.
She bucked against him, twisting in his grip, still shrieking. But he held fast, held strong. And
that seemed to calm her a bit.
She turned her head to him, rest the back of her head against his shoulder, turning her face up to
him. It was streaked with tears, a tiny rivulet of blood had run down the side of her face, just
before her ear.
"There's blood," she whispered.
"Yeah," Draco reached up, brushing the droplet away with his fingers. "Yeah there's blood. " He
loosened his grip a bit, allowing her more room to breath, more room to move. She wasn't
struggling anymore, but she was shaking. Her eyes were glazed as they bore into his. Her
delicate hand reached out, gripping his own. He never took his gaze off hers as she pulled his
hand toward her. She lay it flat, against her belly.
"Blood right here," he looked down, mostly because she had. "Do you see it?"
"No." Draco snatched his hand away. Forget humoring her.
"Do you see it?" Hermione repeated with more urgency. Her hands reached up, gripping the front
of his cloak. Her nails dug into his chest but he didn't pull away, he put his hands on his
shoulders shaking her a bit.
"No I don't see the blood," he snapped. "Because it isn't there." Hermione shook her head.
"Not the blood," she whispered. "The dagger." Her hands released him, going to her abdomen.
"'Right here." She held up her hands, before his face, forcing him to draw back a bit. "It makes
the blood run across my hands." She cocked her head. "See it?"
"No. Hermione stop it," he shook her hand, causing her head to snap back. "It's just the visions
Hermione, ignore them." He leaned in close, his silver eyes burned into her glazed hazel. "Fight
it Hermione." He shook her again harder this time. "FIGHT IT." She reared back at his roar.
And then she was her again.
Her eyes snapped into focus, the shaking stopped, and she was looking at him with such fear and
misery in his eyes that he could do nothing more but clutch her too him.
Confused she wrapped her arms around his middle as he wrapped his around her back. His
fingers were cool against the bare of her neck and Hermione closed her eyes.
"Your poor mother," she whispered raggedly and Draco clutched her tighter. "What she must
have gone through..." her voice was soft, and full of sorrow.
It broke is heart.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"How long," Voldemort sat as he always did, fingers pressed together in a splayed bottomless
triangle, his pose lazy, but alert.
"There's no telling," Lucius replied. "It has progressed fast, just as you said. Because of that I
can't be sure."
"My mistress will be pleased," Voldemort smiled, his teeth flashing sickly green in the light.
"Very pleased indeed."
"I am glad," Lucius resisted the urge to look towards the door. He very much wanted to leave. He
had business to attend to. Business that had nothing to do with this man, or his plans.
"The day draws close Lucius," Voldemort said. "And then our plans can truly begin."
"I anticipate that day my lord," Lucius bowed his head humbly, for if he looked into the face of
this man, he would know that Lucius was lying.
"As you should," Voldemort gave what Lucius assumed was a chuckle, but it was more like the
grinding sound of bone against bone. "As we all should."
"The girl-" Lucius began. "-you want me to keep her?"
"Of course," Voldemort stood, and Lucius again resisted an urge. This time to let out a sigh of
relief that he was departing. "She is still useful."
"May I ask how?" Lucius stood as well.
"No."
"I apologize Master," Lucius bowed his head again, this time to conceal his rage. "I had no right
to ask."
"We both know this Lucius," he heard the man's boots shuffle across the floor, and the creak of
the heavy door as it opened. He looked up, catching those eerie yellow eyes with his own.
Voldemort gave him a cursory nod.
"You have done well. For this you will be greatly rewarded." And then the door closed. After a
few moments Lucius himself crossed the room, his eyes going to the mirror just above his
favorite armchair.
The man that stared back at him was not the one he remembered. The face itself was as familiar
as one's own can be of course, but Lucius had always superimposed the face of his younger self
on this one in his mind. It was infinitely more pleasing.
Where once there had been smooth ivory skin there were the harsh, biting planes of age worn
leather.
Once his eyes had shown bright silver with the promise of power, the glint of the future. Now
they were dull gray, dimmed by years of unquestioning obedience, but still, there glimmered
faintly in their depths the knowledge of what he had become.
Lucius did not hate himself. He was hated to be sure, but he was not among that number. He did
not love himself either. He of course held himself in the highest esteem. He knew he was a
handsome man with his silver hair, aristocratic features, and full Grecian lips, and he knew he
was a powerful man. He had the power that fear and wealth afford everyone who knows how to
use them.
And that was what he had always strived for. What he had been taught from birth to want.
But he had paid a heavy price indeed for that power. Burned out of him was all capacity to feel.
All capacity to love.
Which is why he would continue this charade. He had lost everything most people held dear
already. Why not continue his pursuit.
And by doing this, he would reach his goal.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco cast his eye across the table, willing her with his mind to eat. But she wasn't listening
apparently.
He knew she was still weak from the ritual, from her very first real vision, and that she was
probably nauseous from what she had seen. However brief and unclear it had been. But she had
to eat.
So he sat there, forcing himself to down the soup in the hopes she would follow his example. He
sat there sending her messages with his mind, his eyes fair bugging out of head.
They had discussed it afterward of course. Her vision, however traumatic had been like a dream.
Completely nonsensical, following no order whatsoever, and making the littlest sense possible.
She could recall a dagger, he knew which from her description. The silver handled blade with
the twisting snake could belong to no other then his father.
She could remember blood. And if she hadn't been able to remember it then surely he would
have been able to.
And there had been death. Her own she thought. But he had refused to believe it.
It left him nauseous. For never, had his mother's visions, in all his experiences with them failed
to come to pass. And he wouldn't let her die.
Hermione's head still burned, both from the pain, blinding and white, of the vision. And from the
attempted scalping by none other then herself. She hadn't managed to rip much of her hair out,
but small spots on her head twinged with pain. She felt embarrassed, and scared. Mostly scared.
But determined. To do what exactly she didn't know.
She had felt the same way in second year during the Tom Riddle episode. She had known, before
anyone, what was petrifying the students, and she had prepared herself. And she was frightened,
walking down those halls, not pursuing it but not wanting to be pursued. But she had been
determined. Determined to get to Harry, determined to stop it with his help. She felt that
determination now. But this time she couldn't go to Harry.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco pointedly lift his spoon up, soup running over the
sides of the spoon to drip back into the bowl. He slowly, deliberately raised it to his mouth, and
made a big show of eating it. Obviously he was trying to tell her something.
Giving a resigned sigh Hermione reached for a piece of the crumbly bread that always came with
these soup meals.
Sometimes the soup was different. Today was one of those days. It was an actually tasty looking
cheddar broccoli concoction with bits of floating melted cheddar cheese on the top. She gave
him a "See, I'm doing it look." As she tore a bit of the bread off and dipped it in her soup.
He gave a satisfied grunt, his own spoon plopping back into his bowl. Mission accomplished. He
grabbed his glass of wine.
"Thank you for last night," Hermione said softly, her eyes on her soup, watching the steam rise
up and disappear. Draco had paused midway, the glass tilted in midair.
"It was...." it was what he thought wildly. Nothing? Cause it hadn't been. My pleasure? It most
certainly hadn't been that. "The right thing to do."
"You never really struck me as someone prone to do the right thing," Hermione looked up then,
absently tearing off another piece of bread. Now that she had tasted the soup her appetite was
returning.
"I'm not," Draco said and sipped his wine. It was cool and bittersweet to the taste. Wine, was one
of his few loves. "But occasionally I have my moments."
"Well it was....sweet." Hermione said softly. Her eyes dipped back down to her soup, the cheese
had been disrupted, half hidden now by a layer of milky broth. Draco didn't reply, just took
another sip of his wine.
He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were trained on the large doors of the dining room, he his face
was passive. As if he was thinking about nothing more then what socks to wear the next day.
Which he could have been for all Hermione knew.
"We should try to find out more about your visions," he said finally, he took another sip of his
wine.
Hermione nodded, her spoon dropping into her bowl, she hadn't wanted to think about the
visions. Not really. It had been better to focus on the wonderful events that had been because of
them.
The researching of things like this always led to information that noone wanted to know. Twists
and turns of simple situations that couldn't be fixed. It was better to not know.
"We can get Kylie to help," Draco went on. "She has experience with this."
Hermione looked up.
"She's been with my mother forever," he said softly. "She nursed her back to health."
"Alright," Hermione took in a small breath. It was better to know she decided.
She had always wanted Harry to know what he was up against. She'd always wanted him to be
prepared. But those times had never been about her, they had been about Harry. And it was so
much worse when it was your danger.
"I'll meet you in the library in an hour," Draco stood, setting his now empty glass of wine on the
table. "And we'll figure out how to fix this."
But Hermione couldn't help but think it was a situation that couldn't be fixed.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lucius left his meeting with Voldemort burning with something. It was that primal burn, the
kind that was as old as time. It was purely human in nature. And it must be answered too.
Which was why he found himself strolling down the tasteless, dark corridors of a place he had
kept for years as nothing more then a prison.
It's hidden, but fairly close location made it convenient for such purposes, and of course there
were it's other special amenities.
He hated it here. There was no style, no taste to the decor. It was claustrophobic and dank. It
suited his purposes perfectly in every other regard, but he didn't like to visit.
But The Winter Palace held something now that enticed him. Something that could cure the
burn.
He knew where they would be. It was only natural that they would discover it after a time. So
that was where he headed. His long legs made their way down the twisting corridors at a pace
that was almost ungodly. It fueled him. And she was there.
There was no preamble, no warning when the doors to the library flew open with a snap, one
door crashing against the stone of the wall with the sound of splintering wood.
Kylie leapt from her chair, her book falling from her hands to the floor where it landed with a
thumb. Hermione was far more discreet with her fear, her book falling forgotten in her lap, her
eyes widening in fear. But Draco was completely impassive, as if he was used to his father
bursting into rooms on a daily basis. Which he very well could have been.
If Lucius cared that they were in the room he gave no sign. For a moment Hermione was quite
certain he was there for her. But his eyes were on Kylie.
Lucius leered at the girl and crossed the room, pushing her aside to sit in the chair she had leapt
up from. As if on impulse she backed away, now standing just in the middle of the room. He
raised a hand, patting the knee of his pants.
"Come here and sit on my lap girl." Kylie's eyes widened, in fear, in pain, and she took a step
forward. Then another
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes raising to Draco's. Do something she pleaded. Stop him. Her own
fear of the man was too much for her, he had done so much already.
"Don't do it Kylie." Kylie stopped.
"Sit on my lap girl." Lucius repeated more forcefully and sent a glare to his son. Kylie took
another step forward, biting her lip. Lucius before her, Draco behind her and Hermione rigid in
the chair to her right.
"Don't move." Draco said. Hermione watched Kylie bite her lip harder, a tiny drop of blood
falling from it, running down her chin. Lucius held up a hand.
"You will come here."
"No you won't." Kylie's eyes closed, and her hand went up to her arm, but she didn't touch it, she
merely clenched her fists. Another drop of blood slid down her chin, dripping to the floor. She
was shaking from the exertion, a tear slipping out of her squinched eyes.
"COME HERE." Lucius roared and fair flew out of his seat. Draco took a step towards the man.
"Stay there." Kylie cried out, her hand going to her arm now, gripping it.
"Cease this Draco." Lucius sent a look to his son, they were both caught in a battle of power
now. Draco could feel his chest start the burn, but he ignored it. "You will come here."
"You will not." Draco said, ignoring his father, eyes on Kylie. "Fight it Kylie." The girl did not
fight it. She sunk to the ground, a whimper escaping her lips. She was clutching her arm so hard
Hermione was scared she was going to break the bone. Another tear fell to the floor, and the girl
was shaking so hard she looked to be in the fits of a seizure. Her head raised up and her eyes
locked with Hermione's. There was so much pain in them, so much pleading Hermione felt like
sobbing.
"Get UP." Lucius roared, taking a step towards the fallen girl.
"STOP IT." Hermione shrieked, she rose from her chair, falling to her knees by Kylie's side.
"YOU'RE HURTING HER." Her arms went around the girl, holding her up.
If Lucius cared he didn't show it, but she saw Draco flinch, and the boy took a step back. Lucius
smiled, triumphant.
"You will come with me Kylie." And Kylie stood up, pushing Hermione away. She rose slowly
on shaky legs, her breath coming in sharp pained gasps. She walked swiftly, with each step the
pain subsiding a little more. Lucius looked up to his son.
"Yet again boy," Lucius smirked. "You lose." He gathered the girl into his arms, plunging cold
fingers into her mass of auburn hair, her face in his chest. "Take your mudblood whore to her
room." And then he grabbed Kylie's shoulder, pushing her towards the door. She stumbled,
almost crashing to the floor, but managed to catch herself on a table, her knuckles white from
clenching it so hard.
"Let her alone," Draco took a step towards his father, but he saw Kylie's face just behind the
man. Her looked seemed to say "Don't make him madder." And he knew she would feel the
punishment for his actions. Lucius smiled, seeing the guilt on his son's face, knowing his
triumph.
"You will see her in the morning Draco," he looked the Hermione. "I'm sure you and your little
whore can keep yourselves occupied till then." His grinned widened. "I know me and mine will."
And with that he opened the door, pushing Kylie into the hallway, his cloak billowing out behind
him as he followed her.
Draco was at Hermione's side in an instant, lifting her up to her feet. She looked like she wanted
to say something, or scream something. So he just pulled her to him, burying her head in his
chest.
"There's nothing we can do," he said softly. "He wins." And then his voice turned bitter. "He
always wins."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Her eyes roamed over the sparkling plain of the mirror, which flickered in the light from the
candles, casting orange beams of light on the walls.
They moved over the high cheekbones of purest ivory, the almost white lips that had once been
full and cherry red. They lingered on the lines, worn deep into the skin around her lips, around
her eyes. Forged there by years of pain, etched into her passive face from years of torment.
And she felt the strong, almost painful kick of the child responsible for the deadness of her eyes.
It was not her child.
Narcissa kept telling herself that. She knew it to be true. It was not a child formed from love, or
from hate. It was unnatural, and evil. She knew that with every fiber of her being.
For her and the child were connected in a way that only mother's and daughter's can be.
And it would be a girl. She had seen that much before Lucius had ripped her visions away from
her. He had waited until he was certain she could know the future, and he had taken what had
been given to Narcissa from birth.
The child kicked again. They were not the soft rumblings of restless babes, they were the hard
jolts of someone trying to break free.
There was nothing natural about this baby. It had been made from fear, woven together from
revulsion and necessity. And it grew to fast to be human.
In mere days her stomach had swelled to that of a woman in her third trimester. And Lucius had
waited until she could give him the information he desired before he took the visions from her.
The visions hadn't always been horrible views into evil. The had started out as good and pure,
giving her a glimpse of a brief, but happy future. Then they had twisted, leaving her weak,
driving her mad. Killing her slowly.
And now, free from their burden she could see the way things really were. If Lucius had let her
be, forced to cope with both the visions darkness and the evil of the child growing in her belly
she would not last long. She was not a creature of the darkness, she had been born to a perfectly
happy existence and as such her soul was not equipped to handle so much of the dark.
But she missed her visions. They had been as much a part of her as the honeyed strands of hair
that hung, long and limp down her back. But they were gone now.
And Narcissa was left with nothing. Nothing but her son, and the creature of horror growing
inside her. The one who would greet the world in a matter of hours. For her water had broken.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Despite Lucius's words, Kylie did not return the next morning. A quick search of the castle told
him that much.
Something was wrong. And not with Kylie. There was no doubt that something was wrong with
Kylie, but it was something else. Something worse.
The air was charged with it, tense and thick, it suffocated him. Despite that, he couldn't sit still.
His stomach clenched and unclenched, and his hands did the same, of their own volition.
Hermione felt it too, even in sleep. The dark descended upon the Palace in waves, wracking her
body with nightmares, her screams filling the silence. But she didn't awaken, she was lost in a
world of her own, and nothing he had tried could bring her back.
She fought against something, her hands clawing at air, shrieking for something to stop. What,
he
didn't know, and she didn't give him a clue with her shrill cries. So he had paced, a wide path
across her floor, waiting for her to wake. Which she showed no signs of doing anytime soon. But
he would wait.
For he had nothing but time. But time was short, and something was coming to prove that. He
tried to play it off at first, he hadn't slept in almost 24 hours, he couldn't if he'd tried. He would
have tossed and turned wondering if Hermione was okay, if Kylie was okay. He would have
gotten up, frustrated and paced the length of his room till well past midnight, pacing till he heard
her screams. Then he would have taken his pacing to Hermione's room and resumed it there.
There would be no sleep for him. And if there was it would come at a price.
His eyes drifted from the marble of the floor, dull now from the tread of his boots shuffling
across it for so long to the girl in the bed. She had quieted a bit, but not much. Her shrieks had
been replaced with soft whimpers, sounds of fear, her hands clutching the moth eaten pile of
thin blankets in a death grip. But she was calming.
He wasn't sure which worried him more, her screams of her silence. Draco ran a hand through
his limp silver hair,
taking
the seat beside her bed. It was quickly becoming his standard perch, and that wasn't a pleasant
thought in the least.
"Hermione," he whispered, his hand reached out, falling to her shoulder. He shook her gently.
"Wake up." But she didn't awaken. At least it didn't appear that way.
Her hand snapped up, and Draco fell back startled, but her hand had latched onto his. Her nails
dug into it, fitting into the grooves of his bones. Draco tried to pull away, but failed.
Her eyes opened, her head turned slowly to face him, and Draco wanted to vomit up the
contents of his empty stomach. They weren't her usual cinnamon eyes, so full of emotion.
These eyes were black., dead to the world, and when she spoke her voice was dull and raspy.
"She's coming."
"Who's coming?" Draco leaned closer, resisting the urge to give a frustrated sigh. He hated the
vagueness visions
brought. But it was
over. Whatever it was, was over. Hermione blinked, her pupils snapping back into focus, her
vision clearing.
"Who's coming?" Draco repeated, Hermione snatched her hand away, her mouth falling open in
shock.
"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie couldn't have stopped him if she tried, he was so much larger then her, so much more
powerful. Even now, after all she had been through she let him pull her along. She didn't ask
why, there was no point in it. So she let him yank her down the hallways of the Manor she knew
so well, towards the room where the screaming was.
"You will attend the midwife," he was saying, but even that wasn't an answer. She didn't know
why he needed a midwife, or for who. So she just nodded silently behind him as he yanked her
along.
The screams grew louder as they approached, the moans of a woman deep in the throes of labor.
They echoed off the walls, drifting out into the corridors.
Lucius pushed the doors open and pushed Kylie inside.
Kylie gasped, her eyes taking in the scene. Her mistress, who to her knowledge had not been
pregnant before she left, was laying, soaked in blood on the large bed in the center of the room.
Beside her was a man Kylie wished she could have lived her whole life without seeing. He was
horrible, his face that of a serpent, his eyes flashing yellow, his lips thin and cruel, were twisted
in a smile of grim satisfaction.
"My lady?" Kylie whispered. Lucius looked at her, grim.
"Help the woman," he motioned to the third occupant of the room. Kylie gasped again. This
woman was possibly the ugliest person she had ever seen. Her face was a mess of twisted knots
and deep gashes, her eyes dull blue. Stringy grey hair hung in patches down her back, greasy and
unbrushed for what looked like many years, and the smell of her overpowered even that of the
blood. Kylie looked to Lucius, pleading to him with her eyes to just let her go, back to the
Palace, back to her better master. Lucius ignored her pleas and pushed her again, towards the
gnarled hands of the woman.
"The babe is caught," the woman said, her voice sent goose bumps up Kylie's arms. Kylie's eyes
drifted from her horrible visage to that of her hands, worn and calloused from years of labor, the
nails horrendously long, cracked and yellow.
"You-" the woman pointed to Kylie, recognizing her as the servant she was. The woman made
her way over the birthing mother.
Narcissa was pale, her face slick with sweat, shining in the light from the windows. Kylie
watched as Narcissa's head
went back and forth across the soaked
pillow, her mouth opened in a scream Kylie could no longer hear. She heard only the rasping
breath of the old crone beside her, and dry chuckle of the snake man who stood beside the bed.
Everything else was muted, dimmed. She turned back to the woman eyes wide, with fear, with
confusion. The woman simply placed her hand on Narcissa's belly. "-push here. Hard." The
woman said. Kylie nodded dumbly, placing her hands where the woman's had been just
moments before.
Her eyes flew to her mistress's face. For a moment Narcissa seemed to check herself, regaining
some semblance of control over the situation. Silver blue eyes bore into Kylie, clear but pained
and then she spoke. Her voice barely above a whisper.
"The child-" Narcissa said softly. "The child is-" but whatever the child was Kylie wouldn't
know, for Narcissa's voice broke, erupting into another howl of pain.
"PUSH." The old woman snapped, bringing Kylie out of her dazed state. She had to help her
mistress now, had to save her. So Kylie pushed, bearing down on the poor woman's stomach
with all the strength she could, hesitating a bit. She didn't want to hurt her, but the look in the
midwife's eyes told her it was needed. So she pushed harder.
There was blood everywhere, staining the silken sheets a dark red. It dripped onto the floor,
splashing on the midwife's face, creeping up her arm. There was too much blood. Kylie felt like
vomiting at the sight, but she just pushed, harder and harder down on her mistress's stomach
until it felt
like her arms were going to give.
"Almost-" the midwife was saying. Further back, looking grim, but triumphant Lucius watched
the proceedings. There was no concern for his wife on his face, no worry over the outcome. Just
the satisfaction that came from carrying out an order. Someone was shouting, and the snake-man
still laughed, Lucius barked orders and Kylie's head swam. Then it all snapped into focus as the
laboring woman opened her mouth once more.
Narcissa's scream ripped the air, it echoed in Kylie's ears, horrible and shrieking. And then there
was silence.
The midwife pulled out the purple infant, covered in blood and who knew what else, it's skin
cracked and yellow in some places.
Kylie almost fainted. A wave of something she couldn't place washed over her when the babe
opened it's mouth, and she gagged.
Instead of a cry, or a wail, it let out a simple whimper, which sounded more like a laugh to
Kylie.. And then fell silent, it's eyes scrunched up, it's hands clawing at nothing.
The midwife, swept it over to the table against the right wall, picking up a simple black blanket
to clean the child with, and set to work doing just that. The babe twisted in her arms, the blood
twinkling in the light, but Kylie could watch no more. Her eyes flew to her mistress, her eyes
were closed, her breath so shallow Kylie almost thought she was dead. But she would live,
Kylie was certain of that much. Narcissa would live, and so would her child. As Kylie's eyes
flew back to it she felt that same wave wash over her. She knew what it was the second time. It
was as much her mistress as Narcissa. It was evil.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Finally," Voldemort lifted up the glass of wine Lucius had presented him with just moments
before. "The day has come." Lucius nodded, draining his own glass.
The child had been taken away, to be attended to by the midwife, and his wife lay sleeping, or
perhaps unconscious in a new bedroom. She would never have children again from the midwife's
words, which meant if he was to be rid of Draco he would have to find himself a new wife.
That would have to wait, now was a time of preparation, and there was much to prepare for.
"She will grow fast," Voldemort was saying. Lucius forced himself to pay attention. This was
after all his master, and
he couldn't afford to miss a word. "Very fast." Voldemort looked pleased with himself, as if he
had accomplished a
greater task then simply bedding someone else's wife. Perhaps he had.
"Have you decided on a name yet Master?" Lucius inquired. Voldemort nodded, his smile still in
place.
"I have named her Desdemona." Lucius gave a satisfactory nod, as if the name was pleasing. In
fact, no name could
suit girl better.
"Everything else is in order," Lucius assured him. "We just have to wait now."
"We won't wait long," Voldemort said, still smiling. "Not long at all."
Voldemort reached into the folds of his cloak, and withdrew a small velvet box. He handed it to
Lucius.
"Give this to the girl in two days time, by then she will be old enough to appreciate it." He stood,
setting his empty
glass on the desk. "I will return then."
Lucius took the box, opening it. Inside was a heavy silver ring, that despite it's size was still
somehow delicate, and
utterly feminine. It was that of a snake, it's scales etched in the silver, completely lifelike, amber
eyes twinkled in the
light and in it's mouth was a small round blackened opal, the colors seeming to twist and swirl.
Voldemort's smile grew at the look of awe on his servant's face. The ring was in fact beautiful,
beautiful but deadly if
used in the right way. He took the box from the man, lifting the ring from it's velvet lined
confines and held it up.
"This, will be her most basic, but most powerful weapon," he held out the ring. Lucius watched
as the long, gnarled
finger of his master pushed back the opal, the serpent's mouth opening.
"In here-" Voldemort said, showing Lucius that the ring was hollow, the serpent's mouth led way
to it's interior. "Is a
secret hiding place, for the most potent poison's in the world." He smiled wider, pushing the opal
back into place,
closing the ring. "Poison's you will teach my daughter when she is of age." Lucius nodded,
watching as his
master placed the ring back into the box, closing it with a snap.
"She will learn many other things, but we'll discuss those at a later date. Now, I have business to
attend to."
"Don't you want to see her?" Lucius blurted, and Voldemort blinked, as if the thought of seeing
his first, and only
child hadn't occurred to him.
"Not particularly, she is of no interest to me yet," Voldemort's smile was just for himself now, as
if he held a secret
joke only he knew. "But that won't last." He turned, his cloak swirling out behind him. "Watch
her." Lucius nodded,
although his master couldn't see. He heard the click of the door as the man left, and his gaze
returned back to the box
in his hand.
In a few days, he would give it to it's owner.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Narcissa had never felt so much pain in her life, despite the visions and the torment of her
marriage. This was far
worse. Her body felt as if it had been split in two, and the blood flowed even now, hours after
the birth.
It stained the sheet in a crimson puddle, spreading across the white.
She couldn't bear to open her eyes. She had done something horrible, she had given life. She had
given life to
something so vile and despicable she didn't want to see it.
The minute the disgusting midwife had entered her room, the babe wrapped in dark black silk, a
small raven haired
head peeking above the folds she had screamed for her to leave. She had screamed at the poor
old woman to get that
thing out of her sight. It had taken a few moments of stunned confusion before the woman
complied, but it was
enough to know.
She had not been imagining the feelings she had felt during her short, unnatural pregnancy. The
child was in fact evil,
which was wrong. Children were not supposed to be that way. Children were light happy
creatures, but this child had
most decidedly not been.
Something unnatural flowed over all who were around it, and the midwife had held it at arms
length, distancing
herself from the dark-nature of the girl. It had been a girl, a beautiful girl from the mid-wife's
words upon entering the
room. But what is more beautiful then the dark?
"She has black hair, and the strangest eyes I ever seen, but she's a pretty one," the midwife had
said. Narcissa closed
her own eyes. She didn't want to think about it anymore. She just wanted to sleep, to get away.
She had never had a peaceful night's sleep in all her years here, the visions had prevented her
from that, and now she
had the burden of bringing that child into the world to keep her from succumbing to peace.
While she was not at fault,
she was. She could have stopped it she told herself, she could have prevented that creature from
entering this world.
But she had been weak, she had been a coward, and now she would pay the price.
She would do now what she had been to pitiful to do before. Narcissa forced her eyes open, and
grabbed the edge of
the bed, pulling herself up. Every part of her being protested, pain almost sending her to the
floor, but her resolve was
stronger then any pain in this world.
She forced herself to her feet, her nightgown clinging to her legs from the blood. Her legs
trembled, and for a moment
she feared they wouldn't hold her. She stood there, her legs shaking, grasping the poles of the
bed's canopy, trying to
regain a bit of her lost strength.
She thought of Draco. Her beautiful boy, with his silver blonde hair and his lovely eyes to match.
He was such a
handsome boy, so full of love yet never able to share it. She almost wept when she thought of
him, almost thought of
returning to the bed, to spare him. But she couldn't live this way, she wouldn't live this way. And
he would
understand, he was a smart boy.
Slowly she began to move, gripping whatever furniture lay in her path for support, and a few
times she threatened to
fall to the ground. The pain increased with every shuffling step, and her teeth were clenched to
help ease it. They were
clenched so hard she was afraid they would break, but that was the least her troubles now. She
would do what needed
to be done. For her sake.
She was almost there, and again the tears threatened to fall. This time from relief, but she would
not cry. She was too
strong to cry. That's why she was doing this.
She fumbled a few times on the knob, her whole body trembling from the exertion, but finally it
opened, and cool
night air swept in, lifting her gown. She breathed it in, the scent of the night, the cold of the
winter. And she relished
it.
Slowly she forced herself to climb, her feet finding purchase on the thick stone wall, her balance
teetering, but she did
not fall. She would not let herself fall.
Narcissa Malfoy took a breath, her eyes closed, her arms out, her legs trembling. Pain shot up
her body but she didn't
feel it anymore, she didn't care. She took one last gasp of air and opened her eyes, pushing
herself off the stone.
And as she fell, the wind whipping past her body, the water rushing up to meet her, she had but
one thought in her
mind, clouded by fear now, by the exhilaration of falling, by the joy of freedom. For now, in
these last moments she
was truly free. The thought rang in her head, clear as a bell just
before she struck the water.
"Forgive me, Draco."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The midwife had been roused from the village late in the night, yanked from her abode by two
formidable young men
in deep black robes, with grinning skull masks over their faces. They had ordered her to come
along, impatience
making them irritable. For she was a very old woman, and she hobbled about at half the speed of
people twice her
age, making their task take twice as long as it should have.
She had not been frightened of the men, for they had seemed more annoyed then vicious, their
task of securing the
village's midwife well below their station. She had not been surprised either at being roused
from her sleep to exact
such a task, the master of the keep atop the hill had paid her a visit not a week hence, telling her
that soon her services
would be needed. Services she had not put into practice for many years. For the village was
almost barren now, those
who had lived all their lives here, and those before them as well, had fled. Their master had
never been a kind one,
though he exacted no extreme tax, and never forced them to pay a bit of the meager crops they
brought in each year,
but he was by no means kind. And all those years ago, the rumors flew in that their master was
not the honored man
of esteem they held him to be, he was in fact serving a man they had feared for all of their lives.
So they had all left, under the cover of darkness, many stealing their children away in the night
to seek a freedom they
did not deserve. But he had not sought them out, and the midwife was sure that they were
happier now. For Malfoy
Manor was not a happy place, and never would be.
For all her knowledge of the world she knew that the going-on's in the little kingdom were very
backwards, and while
they suited her very well, they were not well liked by the younger people who had dwelt in the
village.
So she had been without young mother's to attend to, without babes to keep healthy, without
children to give the
healing droughts that lined the shelves of her small hovel for many years now. In fact the last
birth she had attended to
was that of the master's son, whom she had rarely seen in the village, for it was quite unseemly
for him to frequent it.
Unless of course his father was teaching him the business of running it.
She was eager now to ply her trade once more, eager to dwell in the company of others, for she
had been without it
for many years. Her ugly visage and the rumors that followed her kept all from visiting, and she
had no family to
speak of. So now she found herself to be quite happily engaged in the Manor, attending to this
child.
At least she had been at first, but now that she had glimpsed the babe she had never desired more
to leave. For this
child was not natural.
She looked at it now, tucked away in the old-fashioned pram, the blankets of the finest black silk
framing it's form.
She was a beautiful girl, of pale porcelain skin, and shining black hair, her features all well
formed. She would be a
beautiful child when she was older, that much was to be sure. But it was her eyes that made the
mid-wife back away,
made her hold the child at arms-length. They were of the deepest swirling violet, deep hues of
dark and light purples
swirling in their depths, but it was not the color that she feared, it was the wisdom in them. They
were not the eyes of
a child, but that of a malicious adult, taking in their surroundings as if calculating something
within their depths. It
was the eyes that had her crossing herself, and taking out the heavy pewter crucifix she was
never without.
The midwife was not a muggle, but she was not a witch, she was what was commonly referred to
as a squib. Which
was why she had spent a majority of her life applying her brain to a wizarding art that did not
need magic, and why
she was so adept at the potions she used to heal the sick. But she did adhere to the Muggle faith
in God, and she felt
that only he could protect her from such a child. For this child was that of the devil.
The midwife crossed herself again, for there was something dreadfully wrong. The baby, which
had been roughly the
size of the most premature of infants just this morning had grown at an alarming rate, now the
size of a baby twice her
age. Although the midwife had been warned that this was to happen she had not believed it.
Children did not grow at
such speeds, and if they did, they were not born of the flesh.
But she was to care for the child, and remain in the manor for a week, until the child was formed
enough to fall under
the care of the Master. Goose bumps rose on her weathered arms just looking at the girl, and as
she leaned over the
pram she resisted the urge to cross herself again, for there was a gleam in those violet eyes that
no child could
possess.
The baby girl giggled, one grasping hand reaching towards the woman, as babies were prone to
do. It took all the
midwife's restraint not to pull away, and she instead, busied herself with arranging the blankets
around the girl so she
could be picked up, and taken to the wet nurse, who had been procured from a neighboring
village and had been paid
masses of money to tend to the babe's hunger needs.
The baby's hand found purchase on the pewter crucifix, and since she did not shy away from it, a
bit of the midwife's
fears were dispelled. If this baby could in fact touch an artifact of God, then she was not as evil
as she appeared to be.
Perhaps it was mere superstition, and the aura of the house that made the baby seem so. With
longer-fingered hands
the midwife batted the child's grasping fingers away, but the baby was not to be deterred.
It clutched harder, with a strength that no baby of it's size could possess. The midwife felt the
heavy chain of the
necklace twist, and her fingers dropped the child back against the bed. The child yanked, and the
midwife was pulled
down, her stringy gray hair brushing the edge of the mattress as she tried to pull away. But the
chain was heavy and
thick, digging into the skin of her neck, and it would not break. Her hands reached up, eyes wide
with fear.
She grabbed the hand of the child, digging her long nails into the baby's skin, but if the child
noticed she didn't let on.
She gave a delighted giggle and twisted the necklace again, pulling down even harder. The chain
pinched the
midwife's skin, and she could not cry out, for it was pulled so taut she could no longer make
more sound then the
barest mew of protest.
The baby giggled again, and twisted the necklace further, blood dripped onto her little hands, the
necklace cutting into
the woman's skin, and her hand jerked up the slightest bit as the midwife tried in vain to get
away. But she was a girl
with unnatural strength, and she was enjoying this game very much. She giggled once more, and
continued to twist
the necklace, yanking the woman further down. The gasping ceased, and the midwife's air was
completely cut off.
Panic seized her, making her dull blue eyes bright with panic, her ugly marred face twisting even
further into fear, but
the child still not let go.
The midwife felt the strength leaving her, her ears burning. Little spots of red danced in front of
her eyes and her
fingers became fumbling in their attempts to pry the child from the crucifix. Soon they fumbled
no more, and the red
dots became black.
Finally, the child let the chain go. The midwife pitched forward, her head falling onto the child's
hands. The child
giggled again, her hands reaching for the wrinkled face. They squeezed the skin for a moment, a
violent purple now,
and then, bored with her game, the baby pushed hard upwards. The midwife fell backwards, to
the floor, dead now,
her face still twisted in fear, blood dotting her neck. And in the pram, Desdemona giggled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Five: UnGod
Author: Dizzy
"And in the darkness all that I can see
The frightened and the weak
Are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of
At mercy are the meek. "-Sarah Mclachlan "Black"
~*~*~*~*~
It was an eternity before Draco finally managed to pull back into some semblance of reality. He
yanked away, holding the girl at arms length.
He was quite sure he had never found himself in such a state. His chest rose and fell sharply with
each intake of strangled breath, and his lips burned with an intensity that matched the pain that
was so frequent in his chest.
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes were wide, both with shock and disappointment. He shook
his head to clear it and then locked eyes with her again.
"You shouldn't have done that." He whirled. Behind him Hermione took a step forward, her arm
stretched out as if to reach him. But nothing could reach him now. The door slammed behind
him.
She really shouldn't have done that she reasoned. It had been a silly stupid thing to do. Kissing
Draco Malfoy was on par with romancing the devil. But the devil couldn't kiss like that.
Instinctively her fingers went up to brush her lips, a gesture that many girls had done in many
situations. But she was quite certain none of them had been kissed like that.
He was all restrained passion, and she could feel his restraint as he moved his lips over hers. It
was like he was mimicking every gentle, tender thing he had ever seen.
But it would never happen again.
Hermione barely slept that night, so plagued was she with the events of the past few days. Her
lips still burned from his kiss, and when she licked them she could still taste him there.
But that lasted only a few hours, and then all she could taste was her salty tears.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie roused her as she often did, a fact Hermione was becoming increasingly used to, and
dressed her in silence. It had been three days since that night and she had seen not a hair of
Draco anywhere.
Kylie brushed her hair without a word and then steered her towards the door. She didn't know if
Draco had talked to Kylie or not, but she didn't think that was the source of the girl's closed lips.
Kylie was scared of something, and whatever it was Hermione felt she was better off not
knowing. After all ignorance was bliss they said, a fact she had never let herself belief.
Knowledge was power was more like it.
Draco was not at breakfast, yet again, and the steam from his soup, rising up into the air was a
painful reminder of that.
He was not in the library, but she saw that he had given up all discretion. The books on the
Tempero Curse had not been cleared away, some still open to the pages he had been reading last.
It was as if he just didn't care what she thought anymore.
Which she supposed he didn't. She already knew what he had been hiding. She knew why he had
done this. She also knew none of it was his fault.
Hermione turned, prepared to try to find him in one of the more secret rooms of the castle, when
the door to the library burst open.
It seemed she wouldn't have to look for him after all. Her heart swelled, and she almost smiled.
His hair was disheveled, his cloak on a bit sideways, but her almost smile faded to nothing when
she saw his face. It was almost frightened, a bit desperate in it's drawn, gaunt features. His
cheeks were flush with exertion.
"What's wrong?" A question she had asked many times.
"My father is here," he was slightly out of breath, leaning against the chair. Her eyes widened.
"Why?"
"I don't know. He said he would come for you." Hermione crossed the short distance between
them.
"What do we do?" She whispered. Draco shook his head.
"There's nothing we CAN do," he said. "There's no way out."
"But we have to do something," Hermione was frantic now, her hands reached out, grabbing the
front of his cloak. Her eyes travelled upwards, locking with his own, her voice bordered on
frustration. "Tell me what to do." Draco looked down at her.
His eyes, that beautiful silver gray were filled with more emotion then she had ever seen in
them. Sadness, regret, desperation, they flickered in the depths of them until there was nothing
but the usual blankness.
"We go to him," Draco grabbed her wrist. "There's no other way."
Hermione pulled her self against him, her heels digging into the floor, rearing backwards as she
tried to pull away. Going to Lucius went against everything she wanted to do. But Draco was
stronger, and he was determined.
"Let me go," she hissed. "Let me go!" This time it was a shriek. But he did no such thing. Instead
he tightened his grip, his fingers digging between the delicate bones of her wrist and started
towards the door.
Hermione stumbled briefly but didn't fall. She just allowed him to pull her. It seemed a habit
with him, dragging people around by the wrists.
They made their way down dark corridors, through the maze of hallways. Somewhere in the
middle of it all his grip on her wrist lessened, moving downwards to grasp her hand. It was a
desperate act, one of many share between them. And Hermione knew he was afraid. In fact she
had never seen him in such a state.
His eyes were steadfastly forward, his stride quick and determined, as if he was forcing himself
to take every step. As if he was hurrying to their fate before he changed his mind.
She squeezed his hand a bit as they went, and felt a flash of ease go through her as he returned
the pressure. But it was short-lived. For they had reached thier destination.
It was the study.
Draco pushed open the doors with no preamble and yanked her inside, his hand leavings hers to
snap around her wrist once more, midstride. She knew it was necessary. His father would not
tolerate anything more.
Lucius was in the middle, perched lazily in the high back leather armchair, his feet propped, one
crossed over the other on the ottoman. He smiled when they entered, gesturing towards Draco to
close the door. He looked like a man who had all the time and patience in the world.
Draco released her, his eyes never meeting her face and went to do just that.
"We have a very important task ahead of us today children," Lucius sat up, his smile growing. He
turned the full force of that malicious grin on her then, causing her to flinch and look away. He
lowered his feet to the ground, planting them firmly. "And you my dear are the most important
of all." He stood up then. "Come." Draco obediently took a step towards his father, and then
reached behind him, yanking Hermione over.
They formed an odd circle, one evil and vindictive, one pure and bookish, one caught between
two extremes. Lucius took off his glove, stuffing it into his pocket.
"Hold out your hand." He commanded. Draco did so without hesitation. And then Hermione did
so as well. With his ungloved hand he pushed Draco's down to touch Hermione's. Then with the
other, reached into his robe and took out another of those glittering blue orbs. His hand lowered
to Draco's resting just on top of it, and then he dropped the orb.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her wrist burned from the pressure of his fingers, so like Draco's, but much harder and he was
close to ripping her arm right out of the socket as he yanked her along the narrow corridor
towards his own destination. She was struggling to keep up. Lucius was much taller then her,
with legs almost as long as her entire body and it was almost impossible to match his long-
limbed stride.
But she was managing. She could hear Draco's boots just behind her, keeping his distance but at
the same time remaining as close as he could without arousing Lucius's suspicion. She wanted
nothing more then to reach back and grab his hand, but of course it was impossible.
Lucky for her the journey didn't last very long. Lucius paused before a pair of large oak doors,
much like the ones that led into their library. The barest pressure from his hand had them
swinging open and he dragged her inside. Like his son he did not waste time with details, but for
the first time in her whole life Hermione was thinking of Draco as almost gentle in comparison.
The room was sparsely furnished, with only two large overstuffed armchairs as furniture, and a
few well placed candelabra's for lighting.
For some reason it wasn't surprising that Narcissa herself was seated in one of them, her legs
drawn up beside her. She didn't look up when they entered, nor when Lucius pushed the girl he
was dragging into the chair across from her. She just smile dreamily at the ceiling, one hand
splayed across the bulge of her belly. It was bigger then the few days before, but Hermione knew
that was impossible.
Hermione saw Draco cross the room to stand at the back, his shoulder's tense, his expression
wary. His eyes flittered across his mother, taking in her protruding stomach, his eyes widening a
bit with confusion. Lucius was standing between the two chairs, and from deep within his robes
he withdrew two small flasks, hiding them in his hands. Hermione sucked in a breath, for he was
grinning.
"Drink," he handed her one of the flasks, and gave the other to Narcissa, who had just now
realized he was there, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Drink," he repeated to her, and she nodded,
gracefully removing the cork stopper. Hermione looked at her own. The liquid inside of it was
thick and murky, but a beautiful robin's egg blue, shiny in the dim light. She took uncorked it.
She watched Narcissa tilt the flask back, the thick substance flowing into her mouth.
This seemed to strengthen Hermione's resolve, she too tilted back the flask, putting it to her lips.
It tasted of soap. Sweet but burning as she swallowed it, knowing that if she did NOT drink it
Lucius would kill her, and if she did there was only a slight chance it was poisoned. This was the
lesser of the two evils she reasoned. So she drank down the soapy liquid wincing slightly at the
taste.
Draco took a step towards her, but Lucius's eyes on him stopped his stride, and he faltered in his
step.
"You're here to observe Draco," Lucius's tone was cold. "Not interfere." Draco said nothing,
merely stepped back, resuming his position against the wall, his eyes on Hermione. She saw out
of the corner of her eye that he was very much ready to strike, powerless to do anything, and
frustrated because of it.
She drank until she could drink no more. It seemed to overtake her, making her so weak the
flask dropped from her grip and sending glass across the floor. She fell back against the cushion
of the chair, her vision swimming. She could just barely make out the blonde figure of Narcissa
mimicking her actions. But Narcissa did not drop her flask, it merely settled in her lap, falling to
the corner of the chair. Hermione's head turned up towards Lucius, and she could make out his
malicious grin through the haze.
"So it begins," he whispered. He took a step towards the two women, his hands out. He placed
one on Hermione's head pushing her back farther into the cushioning, and one on Narcissa's.
"Watch boy," he said to his son, his eyes concentrated on the women. "This is your mother's
salvation." Draco took a step forward, but did not try to stop him. To do so would mean death.
Perhaps for all of them.
k voice was low, and Hermione couldn't make out the words through the cloud that had
descended over her. But it wasn't English. Perhaps Latin but she couldn't be sure.
His voice was almost soothing in it's murmuring, and she felt her eyes fall closed, giving into the
dark. But her peace was short-lived.
The murmuring increased in volume, in strength. The pain was brief at first, lancing through her
skull, traveling down her spine. She spasmed, her eyes snapping open and Draco took another
step forward.
Lucius ignored him, continuing, his voice snapping with the force of the words, his grip
increasing. His fingers dug into her skull, pulling her hair taught beneath them. And then there
was the light. Draco opened his mouth to cry out as it began, green is your moth and ominous,
rising up from his mother, who was considerably more at peace then Hermione. She simply sat
there, eyes closed, in her chair, but sweat dotted her brow, and he saw her hands clench at her
sides, one gripping her belly. Hermione spasmed again. And the light grew brighter. It filled the
room with a green glow, casting them all in ghostly shadows.
"Stop it," Draco snapped, but Lucius ignored him, continuing his chant, repeating something
unintelligible over and over as he went. He was in a place Draco could not reach him. A place
Draco could not stop him. Lucius's arms were shaking from the force, and Hermione spasmed
again, her mouth opening, her breath coming in short gasps. They were raspy and gargling, and
occasionally she would wheeze from the pain.
"STOP IT," Draco yelled, but they were trapped in their own world, something he couldn't
penetrate. The light intensified, Narcissa's back arching off the chair, her head lolling to the side.
It seemed to be coming from her, and he watched in horror as it traveled up his father's arm,
bright and horrifying. Narcissa let out a scream, her body jerking in pain, but still Lucius went
on. His eyes were bright and glowing, his voice a steady stream of words. The green of the light
made him horrible to look at, a devil at his work and Draco felt his stomach turn. This was his
father.
Dimly Draco heard Hermione scream in his head, but he couldn't take his eyes off the light. It
seemed to move faster up Lucius's arm, and he saw his father tremble for a moment, but his
concentration didn't break. Hermione screamed again, Lucius's fingers digging into her skull
with every word, bearing down on her, pushing her farther backwards. The light continued to
travel up Lucius, and then it jumped, seeming to flow seamlessly from one arm to the other in a
long string of green. Lucius continued, shaking from exertion and the light traveled downward,
forming a rounded ball once more. Hermione jerked against Lucius's grip, her knuckles white
against the green of the chair. His mother seemed to have relaxed, her eyes opening, once hazy
now suddenly full of expression, one of horror and understanding. He saw her jerk against
Lucius's grip, trying to reach Hermione, but it was to no avail. Lucius was being controlled now
by the words coming from his mouth, and he was stronger then anyone could imagine as he
continued. Draco could feel his power coming off of him in waves, it cast his vision in it's
blackness for a moment and Draco blinked trying to clear it. Hermione screamed against, her
legs kicking out as she struggled. The light continued to travel downward.
Draco stepped forward again, knowing he couldn't stop it. His eyes caught his mother's just
before she closed them. In their silver depths he could see her sorrow, her remorse, but also a
little bit of the mother he had almost forgotten. Lucius continued, his voice gaining in strength as
the light traveled further down, until it reached her. Hermione screamed again.
It echoed off the walls, and Draco felt ill once more from the sheer pain of it. The light seemed
to consume her, making her sickly green, her body jerking upwards, almost rising off the chair as
it entered her. And then it was gone, and Lucius dropped his grip.
It took just a second of shock before Draco ran to her, and she slumped into his arms
unconscious.
"It is done." Lucius's breath came in short gasps. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. But he
looked triumphant, flush with power. Draco glared at him, gathering the girl into his arms. She
was limp, but still breathing, and Draco clutched her too him.
"What did you do?" Draco demanded. Lucius's face broke into a smile.
"What I had to."
~*~*~*~*~*~
How they got back was a blur to Draco, he couldn't remember if he'd tried. But they were back at
The Winter Palace nonetheless, Hermione cradled, still unconscious in his arms.
She was pale, too pale, and his mind kept flashing back to the light, the bright green light that
had passed from his mother to her, through Lucius. His blood went cold. He knew what it meant,
it all fell together. The ritual, the light, his mother's eyes, fresh and new again, shining with
clarity. His mother's burden had passed to Hermione.
He carried her down the hall, ignoring the worried look on Kylie's face as he passed her in the
dark corridor. He ignored her footsteps, soft and pattering behind him as he walked to
Hermione's room.
He knew why Lucius had wanted her. He closed his eyes briefly, clutching her closer. There was
a battle warring within him. On one side was the desire for her to wake up, the desire to see her
eyes again, and on the other was the need to keep her sleeping. She should not awake to this.
Kylie appeared at his side to open the door, holding it open as he carried the limp girl into her
room.
"Is she-," Kylie took a step forward, her breath catching. She couldn't finish the question. Draco
shook his head.
"No." He crossed to the bed, laying her gently on the mattress. "But I'm sure she'd rather be after
she wakes up." Kylie's eyes widened.
"Did he-," again she couldn't bring herself to finish the question. But Draco knew regardless. He
shook his head again.
"No. It seems that is your burden to bear," He pulled up his old cloak, and the tattered moth
eaten blanket, tucking them around her still form. "He did something much worse today."
"What?" Kylie clenched her hands together. There was nothing worse then the fate she had in
mind. Nothing. Not in her eyes. "What did he do?"
"He cursed her," Draco closed his eyes, kneeling beside the bed, clutching Hermione's hand in
his own. "He cursed her." He repeated. He heard Kylie's breath catch again.
"Will she live?" Draco nodded.
"But she will not wish to." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his finger
lingering there, moving down her cheeks.
"I..." Kylie was at a loss. "I will leave you now." And she did. Draco said nothing, he could only
kneel there, marble bearing on his knees as he did, staring at her. His mother was free now, but
at this expense. No more would her thoughts plague her, for they had a new victim.
He had known it could be done of course. He had read about it long ago, and the process was not
a difficult one. But one had to have a willing victim. Which Hermione had been. He sucked in a
breath as he felt her stir against his hand, which had idly been stroking her cheeks. Her eyes
fluttered.
"Dra-" she murmured.
"Shhhh," he felt his eyes burn as hers blinked open, they were a bit dazed, and pained, but
otherwise clear. It was still early yet, she was still young. His mother had lived with the burden
for years, for decades.
"What did he She whispered. "My head..." Draco nodded, understanding.
"He-" he choked on his words, and tried to push the girl back as she sat up, her hand reaching up
to clutch his.
"Tell me." She whispered.
"He gave you her visions," Draco said, and his voice cracked. Hermione looked at him confused.
Her head felt heavy, as if something was weighing upon it, and somewhere, something had
stirred inside of her, something locked away. Something that was not supposed to be awake.
"Your mother's?" She blinked. "I don't understand." Draco rose, and she released his hand as he
made his way across the room, yanking the chair over to the bedside. She turned to face him,
drawing the blankets up across her legs. She watched as he fell into the chair, worry had creased
his otherwise handsome face, it had furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes making him look
years older then his seventeen. She felt her heart increase it's beat.
"My mother-" he began, and swallowed. "Has seen things all her life."
"Seen what things?" He held up a hand, silencing her. She supposed he would answer her
questions, she nodded, forcing herself to be patient. Her head had begun to throb, but it wasn't
painful, it was just strange.
"She's had visions," Draco continued. "Dark visions. They drove her quite mad." Hermione's eyes
widened. "They were what made her weak." Draco said softly.
"And Lucius gave them to me." Draco nodded.
"Yes," Draco said softly. He sighed. "I think that's why he had me take you." Hermione
understood. Her hand reached out across the distance to him, grabbing his in her own.
"It's not your fault," She whispered. "It's Lucius's." Draco shrugged.
"It might as well be mine."
They sat there, hands clutched together, at a loss.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco's feet could not move fast enough down the corridor, and they pounded in his ears, heels
on marble. He could hear her screaming, the screams of such terror, of such horror it made his
heart pound in his chest, overpowering the sound of his boots.
It was more of a shrieking then a scream. A shrieking of words he couldn't make out.
He burst into the room.
She was on the bed, her back arched, her hands clawing at air. Then at her hair, ripping it out
strand by strand as she dug into her scalp.
"No," Draco was across the room in three quick strides, gathering the girl into his arms,
clutching her own by her sides. "Stop it." He commanded. But she wasn't listening. She was
stuck, in the throes of a force more powerful then he.
She bucked against him, twisting in his grip, still shrieking. But he held fast, held strong. And
that seemed to calm her a bit.
She turned her head to him, rest the back of her head against his shoulder, turning her face up to
him. It was streaked with tears, a tiny rivulet of blood had run down the side of her face, just
before her ear.
"There's blood," she whispered.
"Yeah," Draco reached up, brushing the droplet away with his fingers. "Yeah there's blood. " He
loosened his grip a bit, allowing her more room to breath, more room to move. She wasn't
struggling anymore, but she was shaking. Her eyes were glazed as they bore into his. Her
delicate hand reached out, gripping his own. He never took his gaze off hers as she pulled his
hand toward her. She lay it flat, against her belly.
"Blood right here," he looked down, mostly because she had. "Do you see it?"
"No." Draco snatched his hand away. Forget humoring her.
"Do you see it?" Hermione repeated with more urgency. Her hands reached up, gripping the front
of his cloak. Her nails dug into his chest but he didn't pull away, he put his hands on his
shoulders shaking her a bit.
"No I don't see the blood," he snapped. "Because it isn't there." Hermione shook her head.
"Not the blood," she whispered. "The dagger." Her hands released him, going to her abdomen.
"'Right here." She held up her hands, before his face, forcing him to draw back a bit. "It makes
the blood run across my hands." She cocked her head. "See it?"
"No. Hermione stop it," he shook her hand, causing her head to snap back. "It's just the visions
Hermione, ignore them." He leaned in close, his silver eyes burned into her glazed hazel. "Fight
it Hermione." He shook her again harder this time. "FIGHT IT." She reared back at his roar.
And then she was her again.
Her eyes snapped into focus, the shaking stopped, and she was looking at him with such fear and
misery in his eyes that he could do nothing more but clutch her too him.
Confused she wrapped her arms around his middle as he wrapped his around her back. His
fingers were cool against the bare of her neck and Hermione closed her eyes.
"Your poor mother," she whispered raggedly and Draco clutched her tighter. "What she must
have gone through..." her voice was soft, and full of sorrow.
It broke is heart.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"How long," Voldemort sat as he always did, fingers pressed together in a splayed bottomless
triangle, his pose lazy, but alert.
"There's no telling," Lucius replied. "It has progressed fast, just as you said. Because of that I
can't be sure."
"My mistress will be pleased," Voldemort smiled, his teeth flashing sickly green in the light.
"Very pleased indeed."
"I am glad," Lucius resisted the urge to look towards the door. He very much wanted to leave. He
had business to attend to. Business that had nothing to do with this man, or his plans.
"The day draws close Lucius," Voldemort said. "And then our plans can truly begin."
"I anticipate that day my lord," Lucius bowed his head humbly, for if he looked into the face of
this man, he would know that Lucius was lying.
"As you should," Voldemort gave what Lucius assumed was a chuckle, but it was more like the
grinding sound of bone against bone. "As we all should."
"The girl-" Lucius began. "-you want me to keep her?"
"Of course," Voldemort stood, and Lucius again resisted an urge. This time to let out a sigh of
relief that he was departing. "She is still useful."
"May I ask how?" Lucius stood as well.
"No."
"I apologize Master," Lucius bowed his head again, this time to conceal his rage. "I had no right
to ask."
"We both know this Lucius," he heard the man's boots shuffle across the floor, and the creak of
the heavy door as it opened. He looked up, catching those eerie yellow eyes with his own.
Voldemort gave him a cursory nod.
"You have done well. For this you will be greatly rewarded." And then the door closed. After a
few moments Lucius himself crossed the room, his eyes going to the mirror just above his
favorite armchair.
The man that stared back at him was not the one he remembered. The face itself was as familiar
as one's own can be of course, but Lucius had always superimposed the face of his younger self
on this one in his mind. It was infinitely more pleasing.
Where once there had been smooth ivory skin there were the harsh, biting planes of age worn
leather.
Once his eyes had shown bright silver with the promise of power, the glint of the future. Now
they were dull gray, dimmed by years of unquestioning obedience, but still, there glimmered
faintly in their depths the knowledge of what he had become.
Lucius did not hate himself. He was hated to be sure, but he was not among that number. He did
not love himself either. He of course held himself in the highest esteem. He knew he was a
handsome man with his silver hair, aristocratic features, and full Grecian lips, and he knew he
was a powerful man. He had the power that fear and wealth afford everyone who knows how to
use them.
And that was what he had always strived for. What he had been taught from birth to want.
But he had paid a heavy price indeed for that power. Burned out of him was all capacity to feel.
All capacity to love.
Which is why he would continue this charade. He had lost everything most people held dear
already. Why not continue his pursuit.
And by doing this, he would reach his goal.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco cast his eye across the table, willing her with his mind to eat. But she wasn't listening
apparently.
He knew she was still weak from the ritual, from her very first real vision, and that she was
probably nauseous from what she had seen. However brief and unclear it had been. But she had
to eat.
So he sat there, forcing himself to down the soup in the hopes she would follow his example. He
sat there sending her messages with his mind, his eyes fair bugging out of head.
They had discussed it afterward of course. Her vision, however traumatic had been like a dream.
Completely nonsensical, following no order whatsoever, and making the littlest sense possible.
She could recall a dagger, he knew which from her description. The silver handled blade with
the twisting snake could belong to no other then his father.
She could remember blood. And if she hadn't been able to remember it then surely he would
have been able to.
And there had been death. Her own she thought. But he had refused to believe it.
It left him nauseous. For never, had his mother's visions, in all his experiences with them failed
to come to pass. And he wouldn't let her die.
Hermione's head still burned, both from the pain, blinding and white, of the vision. And from the
attempted scalping by none other then herself. She hadn't managed to rip much of her hair out,
but small spots on her head twinged with pain. She felt embarrassed, and scared. Mostly scared.
But determined. To do what exactly she didn't know.
She had felt the same way in second year during the Tom Riddle episode. She had known, before
anyone, what was petrifying the students, and she had prepared herself. And she was frightened,
walking down those halls, not pursuing it but not wanting to be pursued. But she had been
determined. Determined to get to Harry, determined to stop it with his help. She felt that
determination now. But this time she couldn't go to Harry.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco pointedly lift his spoon up, soup running over the
sides of the spoon to drip back into the bowl. He slowly, deliberately raised it to his mouth, and
made a big show of eating it. Obviously he was trying to tell her something.
Giving a resigned sigh Hermione reached for a piece of the crumbly bread that always came with
these soup meals.
Sometimes the soup was different. Today was one of those days. It was an actually tasty looking
cheddar broccoli concoction with bits of floating melted cheddar cheese on the top. She gave
him a "See, I'm doing it look." As she tore a bit of the bread off and dipped it in her soup.
He gave a satisfied grunt, his own spoon plopping back into his bowl. Mission accomplished. He
grabbed his glass of wine.
"Thank you for last night," Hermione said softly, her eyes on her soup, watching the steam rise
up and disappear. Draco had paused midway, the glass tilted in midair.
"It was...." it was what he thought wildly. Nothing? Cause it hadn't been. My pleasure? It most
certainly hadn't been that. "The right thing to do."
"You never really struck me as someone prone to do the right thing," Hermione looked up then,
absently tearing off another piece of bread. Now that she had tasted the soup her appetite was
returning.
"I'm not," Draco said and sipped his wine. It was cool and bittersweet to the taste. Wine, was one
of his few loves. "But occasionally I have my moments."
"Well it was....sweet." Hermione said softly. Her eyes dipped back down to her soup, the cheese
had been disrupted, half hidden now by a layer of milky broth. Draco didn't reply, just took
another sip of his wine.
He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were trained on the large doors of the dining room, he his face
was passive. As if he was thinking about nothing more then what socks to wear the next day.
Which he could have been for all Hermione knew.
"We should try to find out more about your visions," he said finally, he took another sip of his
wine.
Hermione nodded, her spoon dropping into her bowl, she hadn't wanted to think about the
visions. Not really. It had been better to focus on the wonderful events that had been because of
them.
The researching of things like this always led to information that noone wanted to know. Twists
and turns of simple situations that couldn't be fixed. It was better to not know.
"We can get Kylie to help," Draco went on. "She has experience with this."
Hermione looked up.
"She's been with my mother forever," he said softly. "She nursed her back to health."
"Alright," Hermione took in a small breath. It was better to know she decided.
She had always wanted Harry to know what he was up against. She'd always wanted him to be
prepared. But those times had never been about her, they had been about Harry. And it was so
much worse when it was your danger.
"I'll meet you in the library in an hour," Draco stood, setting his now empty glass of wine on the
table. "And we'll figure out how to fix this."
But Hermione couldn't help but think it was a situation that couldn't be fixed.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lucius left his meeting with Voldemort burning with something. It was that primal burn, the
kind that was as old as time. It was purely human in nature. And it must be answered too.
Which was why he found himself strolling down the tasteless, dark corridors of a place he had
kept for years as nothing more then a prison.
It's hidden, but fairly close location made it convenient for such purposes, and of course there
were it's other special amenities.
He hated it here. There was no style, no taste to the decor. It was claustrophobic and dank. It
suited his purposes perfectly in every other regard, but he didn't like to visit.
But The Winter Palace held something now that enticed him. Something that could cure the
burn.
He knew where they would be. It was only natural that they would discover it after a time. So
that was where he headed. His long legs made their way down the twisting corridors at a pace
that was almost ungodly. It fueled him. And she was there.
There was no preamble, no warning when the doors to the library flew open with a snap, one
door crashing against the stone of the wall with the sound of splintering wood.
Kylie leapt from her chair, her book falling from her hands to the floor where it landed with a
thumb. Hermione was far more discreet with her fear, her book falling forgotten in her lap, her
eyes widening in fear. But Draco was completely impassive, as if he was used to his father
bursting into rooms on a daily basis. Which he very well could have been.
If Lucius cared that they were in the room he gave no sign. For a moment Hermione was quite
certain he was there for her. But his eyes were on Kylie.
Lucius leered at the girl and crossed the room, pushing her aside to sit in the chair she had leapt
up from. As if on impulse she backed away, now standing just in the middle of the room. He
raised a hand, patting the knee of his pants.
"Come here and sit on my lap girl." Kylie's eyes widened, in fear, in pain, and she took a step
forward. Then another
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes raising to Draco's. Do something she pleaded. Stop him. Her own
fear of the man was too much for her, he had done so much already.
"Don't do it Kylie." Kylie stopped.
"Sit on my lap girl." Lucius repeated more forcefully and sent a glare to his son. Kylie took
another step forward, biting her lip. Lucius before her, Draco behind her and Hermione rigid in
the chair to her right.
"Don't move." Draco said. Hermione watched Kylie bite her lip harder, a tiny drop of blood
falling from it, running down her chin. Lucius held up a hand.
"You will come here."
"No you won't." Kylie's eyes closed, and her hand went up to her arm, but she didn't touch it, she
merely clenched her fists. Another drop of blood slid down her chin, dripping to the floor. She
was shaking from the exertion, a tear slipping out of her squinched eyes.
"COME HERE." Lucius roared and fair flew out of his seat. Draco took a step towards the man.
"Stay there." Kylie cried out, her hand going to her arm now, gripping it.
"Cease this Draco." Lucius sent a look to his son, they were both caught in a battle of power
now. Draco could feel his chest start the burn, but he ignored it. "You will come here."
"You will not." Draco said, ignoring his father, eyes on Kylie. "Fight it Kylie." The girl did not
fight it. She sunk to the ground, a whimper escaping her lips. She was clutching her arm so hard
Hermione was scared she was going to break the bone. Another tear fell to the floor, and the girl
was shaking so hard she looked to be in the fits of a seizure. Her head raised up and her eyes
locked with Hermione's. There was so much pain in them, so much pleading Hermione felt like
sobbing.
"Get UP." Lucius roared, taking a step towards the fallen girl.
"STOP IT." Hermione shrieked, she rose from her chair, falling to her knees by Kylie's side.
"YOU'RE HURTING HER." Her arms went around the girl, holding her up.
If Lucius cared he didn't show it, but she saw Draco flinch, and the boy took a step back. Lucius
smiled, triumphant.
"You will come with me Kylie." And Kylie stood up, pushing Hermione away. She rose slowly
on shaky legs, her breath coming in sharp pained gasps. She walked swiftly, with each step the
pain subsiding a little more. Lucius looked up to his son.
"Yet again boy," Lucius smirked. "You lose." He gathered the girl into his arms, plunging cold
fingers into her mass of auburn hair, her face in his chest. "Take your mudblood whore to her
room." And then he grabbed Kylie's shoulder, pushing her towards the door. She stumbled,
almost crashing to the floor, but managed to catch herself on a table, her knuckles white from
clenching it so hard.
"Let her alone," Draco took a step towards his father, but he saw Kylie's face just behind the
man. Her looked seemed to say "Don't make him madder." And he knew she would feel the
punishment for his actions. Lucius smiled, seeing the guilt on his son's face, knowing his
triumph.
"You will see her in the morning Draco," he looked the Hermione. "I'm sure you and your little
whore can keep yourselves occupied till then." His grinned widened. "I know me and mine will."
And with that he opened the door, pushing Kylie into the hallway, his cloak billowing out behind
him as he followed her.
Draco was at Hermione's side in an instant, lifting her up to her feet. She looked like she wanted
to say something, or scream something. So he just pulled her to him, burying her head in his
chest.
"There's nothing we can do," he said softly. "He wins." And then his voice turned bitter. "He
always wins."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Her eyes roamed over the sparkling plain of the mirror, which flickered in the light from the
candles, casting orange beams of light on the walls.
They moved over the high cheekbones of purest ivory, the almost white lips that had once been
full and cherry red. They lingered on the lines, worn deep into the skin around her lips, around
her eyes. Forged there by years of pain, etched into her passive face from years of torment.
And she felt the strong, almost painful kick of the child responsible for the deadness of her eyes.
It was not her child.
Narcissa kept telling herself that. She knew it to be true. It was not a child formed from love, or
from hate. It was unnatural, and evil. She knew that with every fiber of her being.
For her and the child were connected in a way that only mother's and daughter's can be.
And it would be a girl. She had seen that much before Lucius had ripped her visions away from
her. He had waited until he was certain she could know the future, and he had taken what had
been given to Narcissa from birth.
The child kicked again. They were not the soft rumblings of restless babes, they were the hard
jolts of someone trying to break free.
There was nothing natural about this baby. It had been made from fear, woven together from
revulsion and necessity. And it grew to fast to be human.
In mere days her stomach had swelled to that of a woman in her third trimester. And Lucius had
waited until she could give him the information he desired before he took the visions from her.
The visions hadn't always been horrible views into evil. The had started out as good and pure,
giving her a glimpse of a brief, but happy future. Then they had twisted, leaving her weak,
driving her mad. Killing her slowly.
And now, free from their burden she could see the way things really were. If Lucius had let her
be, forced to cope with both the visions darkness and the evil of the child growing in her belly
she would not last long. She was not a creature of the darkness, she had been born to a perfectly
happy existence and as such her soul was not equipped to handle so much of the dark.
But she missed her visions. They had been as much a part of her as the honeyed strands of hair
that hung, long and limp down her back. But they were gone now.
And Narcissa was left with nothing. Nothing but her son, and the creature of horror growing
inside her. The one who would greet the world in a matter of hours. For her water had broken.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Despite Lucius's words, Kylie did not return the next morning. A quick search of the castle told
him that much.
Something was wrong. And not with Kylie. There was no doubt that something was wrong with
Kylie, but it was something else. Something worse.
The air was charged with it, tense and thick, it suffocated him. Despite that, he couldn't sit still.
His stomach clenched and unclenched, and his hands did the same, of their own volition.
Hermione felt it too, even in sleep. The dark descended upon the Palace in waves, wracking her
body with nightmares, her screams filling the silence. But she didn't awaken, she was lost in a
world of her own, and nothing he had tried could bring her back.
She fought against something, her hands clawing at air, shrieking for something to stop. What,
he
didn't know, and she didn't give him a clue with her shrill cries. So he had paced, a wide path
across her floor, waiting for her to wake. Which she showed no signs of doing anytime soon. But
he would wait.
For he had nothing but time. But time was short, and something was coming to prove that. He
tried to play it off at first, he hadn't slept in almost 24 hours, he couldn't if he'd tried. He would
have tossed and turned wondering if Hermione was okay, if Kylie was okay. He would have
gotten up, frustrated and paced the length of his room till well past midnight, pacing till he heard
her screams. Then he would have taken his pacing to Hermione's room and resumed it there.
There would be no sleep for him. And if there was it would come at a price.
His eyes drifted from the marble of the floor, dull now from the tread of his boots shuffling
across it for so long to the girl in the bed. She had quieted a bit, but not much. Her shrieks had
been replaced with soft whimpers, sounds of fear, her hands clutching the moth eaten pile of
thin blankets in a death grip. But she was calming.
He wasn't sure which worried him more, her screams of her silence. Draco ran a hand through
his limp silver hair,
taking
the seat beside her bed. It was quickly becoming his standard perch, and that wasn't a pleasant
thought in the least.
"Hermione," he whispered, his hand reached out, falling to her shoulder. He shook her gently.
"Wake up." But she didn't awaken. At least it didn't appear that way.
Her hand snapped up, and Draco fell back startled, but her hand had latched onto his. Her nails
dug into it, fitting into the grooves of his bones. Draco tried to pull away, but failed.
Her eyes opened, her head turned slowly to face him, and Draco wanted to vomit up the
contents of his empty stomach. They weren't her usual cinnamon eyes, so full of emotion.
These eyes were black., dead to the world, and when she spoke her voice was dull and raspy.
"She's coming."
"Who's coming?" Draco leaned closer, resisting the urge to give a frustrated sigh. He hated the
vagueness visions
brought. But it was
over. Whatever it was, was over. Hermione blinked, her pupils snapping back into focus, her
vision clearing.
"Who's coming?" Draco repeated, Hermione snatched her hand away, her mouth falling open in
shock.
"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie couldn't have stopped him if she tried, he was so much larger then her, so much more
powerful. Even now, after all she had been through she let him pull her along. She didn't ask
why, there was no point in it. So she let him yank her down the hallways of the Manor she knew
so well, towards the room where the screaming was.
"You will attend the midwife," he was saying, but even that wasn't an answer. She didn't know
why he needed a midwife, or for who. So she just nodded silently behind him as he yanked her
along.
The screams grew louder as they approached, the moans of a woman deep in the throes of labor.
They echoed off the walls, drifting out into the corridors.
Lucius pushed the doors open and pushed Kylie inside.
Kylie gasped, her eyes taking in the scene. Her mistress, who to her knowledge had not been
pregnant before she left, was laying, soaked in blood on the large bed in the center of the room.
Beside her was a man Kylie wished she could have lived her whole life without seeing. He was
horrible, his face that of a serpent, his eyes flashing yellow, his lips thin and cruel, were twisted
in a smile of grim satisfaction.
"My lady?" Kylie whispered. Lucius looked at her, grim.
"Help the woman," he motioned to the third occupant of the room. Kylie gasped again. This
woman was possibly the ugliest person she had ever seen. Her face was a mess of twisted knots
and deep gashes, her eyes dull blue. Stringy grey hair hung in patches down her back, greasy and
unbrushed for what looked like many years, and the smell of her overpowered even that of the
blood. Kylie looked to Lucius, pleading to him with her eyes to just let her go, back to the
Palace, back to her better master. Lucius ignored her pleas and pushed her again, towards the
gnarled hands of the woman.
"The babe is caught," the woman said, her voice sent goose bumps up Kylie's arms. Kylie's eyes
drifted from her horrible visage to that of her hands, worn and calloused from years of labor, the
nails horrendously long, cracked and yellow.
"You-" the woman pointed to Kylie, recognizing her as the servant she was. The woman made
her way over the birthing mother.
Narcissa was pale, her face slick with sweat, shining in the light from the windows. Kylie
watched as Narcissa's head
went back and forth across the soaked
pillow, her mouth opened in a scream Kylie could no longer hear. She heard only the rasping
breath of the old crone beside her, and dry chuckle of the snake man who stood beside the bed.
Everything else was muted, dimmed. She turned back to the woman eyes wide, with fear, with
confusion. The woman simply placed her hand on Narcissa's belly. "-push here. Hard." The
woman said. Kylie nodded dumbly, placing her hands where the woman's had been just
moments before.
Her eyes flew to her mistress's face. For a moment Narcissa seemed to check herself, regaining
some semblance of control over the situation. Silver blue eyes bore into Kylie, clear but pained
and then she spoke. Her voice barely above a whisper.
"The child-" Narcissa said softly. "The child is-" but whatever the child was Kylie wouldn't
know, for Narcissa's voice broke, erupting into another howl of pain.
"PUSH." The old woman snapped, bringing Kylie out of her dazed state. She had to help her
mistress now, had to save her. So Kylie pushed, bearing down on the poor woman's stomach
with all the strength she could, hesitating a bit. She didn't want to hurt her, but the look in the
midwife's eyes told her it was needed. So she pushed harder.
There was blood everywhere, staining the silken sheets a dark red. It dripped onto the floor,
splashing on the midwife's face, creeping up her arm. There was too much blood. Kylie felt like
vomiting at the sight, but she just pushed, harder and harder down on her mistress's stomach
until it felt
like her arms were going to give.
"Almost-" the midwife was saying. Further back, looking grim, but triumphant Lucius watched
the proceedings. There was no concern for his wife on his face, no worry over the outcome. Just
the satisfaction that came from carrying out an order. Someone was shouting, and the snake-man
still laughed, Lucius barked orders and Kylie's head swam. Then it all snapped into focus as the
laboring woman opened her mouth once more.
Narcissa's scream ripped the air, it echoed in Kylie's ears, horrible and shrieking. And then there
was silence.
The midwife pulled out the purple infant, covered in blood and who knew what else, it's skin
cracked and yellow in some places.
Kylie almost fainted. A wave of something she couldn't place washed over her when the babe
opened it's mouth, and she gagged.
Instead of a cry, or a wail, it let out a simple whimper, which sounded more like a laugh to
Kylie.. And then fell silent, it's eyes scrunched up, it's hands clawing at nothing.
The midwife, swept it over to the table against the right wall, picking up a simple black blanket
to clean the child with, and set to work doing just that. The babe twisted in her arms, the blood
twinkling in the light, but Kylie could watch no more. Her eyes flew to her mistress, her eyes
were closed, her breath so shallow Kylie almost thought she was dead. But she would live,
Kylie was certain of that much. Narcissa would live, and so would her child. As Kylie's eyes
flew back to it she felt that same wave wash over her. She knew what it was the second time. It
was as much her mistress as Narcissa. It was evil.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Finally," Voldemort lifted up the glass of wine Lucius had presented him with just moments
before. "The day has come." Lucius nodded, draining his own glass.
The child had been taken away, to be attended to by the midwife, and his wife lay sleeping, or
perhaps unconscious in a new bedroom. She would never have children again from the midwife's
words, which meant if he was to be rid of Draco he would have to find himself a new wife.
That would have to wait, now was a time of preparation, and there was much to prepare for.
"She will grow fast," Voldemort was saying. Lucius forced himself to pay attention. This was
after all his master, and
he couldn't afford to miss a word. "Very fast." Voldemort looked pleased with himself, as if he
had accomplished a
greater task then simply bedding someone else's wife. Perhaps he had.
"Have you decided on a name yet Master?" Lucius inquired. Voldemort nodded, his smile still in
place.
"I have named her Desdemona." Lucius gave a satisfactory nod, as if the name was pleasing. In
fact, no name could
suit girl better.
"Everything else is in order," Lucius assured him. "We just have to wait now."
"We won't wait long," Voldemort said, still smiling. "Not long at all."
Voldemort reached into the folds of his cloak, and withdrew a small velvet box. He handed it to
Lucius.
"Give this to the girl in two days time, by then she will be old enough to appreciate it." He stood,
setting his empty
glass on the desk. "I will return then."
Lucius took the box, opening it. Inside was a heavy silver ring, that despite it's size was still
somehow delicate, and
utterly feminine. It was that of a snake, it's scales etched in the silver, completely lifelike, amber
eyes twinkled in the
light and in it's mouth was a small round blackened opal, the colors seeming to twist and swirl.
Voldemort's smile grew at the look of awe on his servant's face. The ring was in fact beautiful,
beautiful but deadly if
used in the right way. He took the box from the man, lifting the ring from it's velvet lined
confines and held it up.
"This, will be her most basic, but most powerful weapon," he held out the ring. Lucius watched
as the long, gnarled
finger of his master pushed back the opal, the serpent's mouth opening.
"In here-" Voldemort said, showing Lucius that the ring was hollow, the serpent's mouth led way
to it's interior. "Is a
secret hiding place, for the most potent poison's in the world." He smiled wider, pushing the opal
back into place,
closing the ring. "Poison's you will teach my daughter when she is of age." Lucius nodded,
watching as his
master placed the ring back into the box, closing it with a snap.
"She will learn many other things, but we'll discuss those at a later date. Now, I have business to
attend to."
"Don't you want to see her?" Lucius blurted, and Voldemort blinked, as if the thought of seeing
his first, and only
child hadn't occurred to him.
"Not particularly, she is of no interest to me yet," Voldemort's smile was just for himself now, as
if he held a secret
joke only he knew. "But that won't last." He turned, his cloak swirling out behind him. "Watch
her." Lucius nodded,
although his master couldn't see. He heard the click of the door as the man left, and his gaze
returned back to the box
in his hand.
In a few days, he would give it to it's owner.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Narcissa had never felt so much pain in her life, despite the visions and the torment of her
marriage. This was far
worse. Her body felt as if it had been split in two, and the blood flowed even now, hours after
the birth.
It stained the sheet in a crimson puddle, spreading across the white.
She couldn't bear to open her eyes. She had done something horrible, she had given life. She had
given life to
something so vile and despicable she didn't want to see it.
The minute the disgusting midwife had entered her room, the babe wrapped in dark black silk, a
small raven haired
head peeking above the folds she had screamed for her to leave. She had screamed at the poor
old woman to get that
thing out of her sight. It had taken a few moments of stunned confusion before the woman
complied, but it was
enough to know.
She had not been imagining the feelings she had felt during her short, unnatural pregnancy. The
child was in fact evil,
which was wrong. Children were not supposed to be that way. Children were light happy
creatures, but this child had
most decidedly not been.
Something unnatural flowed over all who were around it, and the midwife had held it at arms
length, distancing
herself from the dark-nature of the girl. It had been a girl, a beautiful girl from the mid-wife's
words upon entering the
room. But what is more beautiful then the dark?
"She has black hair, and the strangest eyes I ever seen, but she's a pretty one," the midwife had
said. Narcissa closed
her own eyes. She didn't want to think about it anymore. She just wanted to sleep, to get away.
She had never had a peaceful night's sleep in all her years here, the visions had prevented her
from that, and now she
had the burden of bringing that child into the world to keep her from succumbing to peace.
While she was not at fault,
she was. She could have stopped it she told herself, she could have prevented that creature from
entering this world.
But she had been weak, she had been a coward, and now she would pay the price.
She would do now what she had been to pitiful to do before. Narcissa forced her eyes open, and
grabbed the edge of
the bed, pulling herself up. Every part of her being protested, pain almost sending her to the
floor, but her resolve was
stronger then any pain in this world.
She forced herself to her feet, her nightgown clinging to her legs from the blood. Her legs
trembled, and for a moment
she feared they wouldn't hold her. She stood there, her legs shaking, grasping the poles of the
bed's canopy, trying to
regain a bit of her lost strength.
She thought of Draco. Her beautiful boy, with his silver blonde hair and his lovely eyes to match.
He was such a
handsome boy, so full of love yet never able to share it. She almost wept when she thought of
him, almost thought of
returning to the bed, to spare him. But she couldn't live this way, she wouldn't live this way. And
he would
understand, he was a smart boy.
Slowly she began to move, gripping whatever furniture lay in her path for support, and a few
times she threatened to
fall to the ground. The pain increased with every shuffling step, and her teeth were clenched to
help ease it. They were
clenched so hard she was afraid they would break, but that was the least her troubles now. She
would do what needed
to be done. For her sake.
She was almost there, and again the tears threatened to fall. This time from relief, but she would
not cry. She was too
strong to cry. That's why she was doing this.
She fumbled a few times on the knob, her whole body trembling from the exertion, but finally it
opened, and cool
night air swept in, lifting her gown. She breathed it in, the scent of the night, the cold of the
winter. And she relished
it.
Slowly she forced herself to climb, her feet finding purchase on the thick stone wall, her balance
teetering, but she did
not fall. She would not let herself fall.
Narcissa Malfoy took a breath, her eyes closed, her arms out, her legs trembling. Pain shot up
her body but she didn't
feel it anymore, she didn't care. She took one last gasp of air and opened her eyes, pushing
herself off the stone.
And as she fell, the wind whipping past her body, the water rushing up to meet her, she had but
one thought in her
mind, clouded by fear now, by the exhilaration of falling, by the joy of freedom. For now, in
these last moments she
was truly free. The thought rang in her head, clear as a bell just
before she struck the water.
"Forgive me, Draco."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The midwife had been roused from the village late in the night, yanked from her abode by two
formidable young men
in deep black robes, with grinning skull masks over their faces. They had ordered her to come
along, impatience
making them irritable. For she was a very old woman, and she hobbled about at half the speed of
people twice her
age, making their task take twice as long as it should have.
She had not been frightened of the men, for they had seemed more annoyed then vicious, their
task of securing the
village's midwife well below their station. She had not been surprised either at being roused
from her sleep to exact
such a task, the master of the keep atop the hill had paid her a visit not a week hence, telling her
that soon her services
would be needed. Services she had not put into practice for many years. For the village was
almost barren now, those
who had lived all their lives here, and those before them as well, had fled. Their master had
never been a kind one,
though he exacted no extreme tax, and never forced them to pay a bit of the meager crops they
brought in each year,
but he was by no means kind. And all those years ago, the rumors flew in that their master was
not the honored man
of esteem they held him to be, he was in fact serving a man they had feared for all of their lives.
So they had all left, under the cover of darkness, many stealing their children away in the night
to seek a freedom they
did not deserve. But he had not sought them out, and the midwife was sure that they were
happier now. For Malfoy
Manor was not a happy place, and never would be.
For all her knowledge of the world she knew that the going-on's in the little kingdom were very
backwards, and while
they suited her very well, they were not well liked by the younger people who had dwelt in the
village.
So she had been without young mother's to attend to, without babes to keep healthy, without
children to give the
healing droughts that lined the shelves of her small hovel for many years now. In fact the last
birth she had attended to
was that of the master's son, whom she had rarely seen in the village, for it was quite unseemly
for him to frequent it.
Unless of course his father was teaching him the business of running it.
She was eager now to ply her trade once more, eager to dwell in the company of others, for she
had been without it
for many years. Her ugly visage and the rumors that followed her kept all from visiting, and she
had no family to
speak of. So now she found herself to be quite happily engaged in the Manor, attending to this
child.
At least she had been at first, but now that she had glimpsed the babe she had never desired more
to leave. For this
child was not natural.
She looked at it now, tucked away in the old-fashioned pram, the blankets of the finest black silk
framing it's form.
She was a beautiful girl, of pale porcelain skin, and shining black hair, her features all well
formed. She would be a
beautiful child when she was older, that much was to be sure. But it was her eyes that made the
mid-wife back away,
made her hold the child at arms-length. They were of the deepest swirling violet, deep hues of
dark and light purples
swirling in their depths, but it was not the color that she feared, it was the wisdom in them. They
were not the eyes of
a child, but that of a malicious adult, taking in their surroundings as if calculating something
within their depths. It
was the eyes that had her crossing herself, and taking out the heavy pewter crucifix she was
never without.
The midwife was not a muggle, but she was not a witch, she was what was commonly referred to
as a squib. Which
was why she had spent a majority of her life applying her brain to a wizarding art that did not
need magic, and why
she was so adept at the potions she used to heal the sick. But she did adhere to the Muggle faith
in God, and she felt
that only he could protect her from such a child. For this child was that of the devil.
The midwife crossed herself again, for there was something dreadfully wrong. The baby, which
had been roughly the
size of the most premature of infants just this morning had grown at an alarming rate, now the
size of a baby twice her
age. Although the midwife had been warned that this was to happen she had not believed it.
Children did not grow at
such speeds, and if they did, they were not born of the flesh.
But she was to care for the child, and remain in the manor for a week, until the child was formed
enough to fall under
the care of the Master. Goose bumps rose on her weathered arms just looking at the girl, and as
she leaned over the
pram she resisted the urge to cross herself again, for there was a gleam in those violet eyes that
no child could
possess.
The baby girl giggled, one grasping hand reaching towards the woman, as babies were prone to
do. It took all the
midwife's restraint not to pull away, and she instead, busied herself with arranging the blankets
around the girl so she
could be picked up, and taken to the wet nurse, who had been procured from a neighboring
village and had been paid
masses of money to tend to the babe's hunger needs.
The baby's hand found purchase on the pewter crucifix, and since she did not shy away from it, a
bit of the midwife's
fears were dispelled. If this baby could in fact touch an artifact of God, then she was not as evil
as she appeared to be.
Perhaps it was mere superstition, and the aura of the house that made the baby seem so. With
longer-fingered hands
the midwife batted the child's grasping fingers away, but the baby was not to be deterred.
It clutched harder, with a strength that no baby of it's size could possess. The midwife felt the
heavy chain of the
necklace twist, and her fingers dropped the child back against the bed. The child yanked, and the
midwife was pulled
down, her stringy gray hair brushing the edge of the mattress as she tried to pull away. But the
chain was heavy and
thick, digging into the skin of her neck, and it would not break. Her hands reached up, eyes wide
with fear.
She grabbed the hand of the child, digging her long nails into the baby's skin, but if the child
noticed she didn't let on.
She gave a delighted giggle and twisted the necklace again, pulling down even harder. The chain
pinched the
midwife's skin, and she could not cry out, for it was pulled so taut she could no longer make
more sound then the
barest mew of protest.
The baby giggled again, and twisted the necklace further, blood dripped onto her little hands, the
necklace cutting into
the woman's skin, and her hand jerked up the slightest bit as the midwife tried in vain to get
away. But she was a girl
with unnatural strength, and she was enjoying this game very much. She giggled once more, and
continued to twist
the necklace, yanking the woman further down. The gasping ceased, and the midwife's air was
completely cut off.
Panic seized her, making her dull blue eyes bright with panic, her ugly marred face twisting even
further into fear, but
the child still not let go.
The midwife felt the strength leaving her, her ears burning. Little spots of red danced in front of
her eyes and her
fingers became fumbling in their attempts to pry the child from the crucifix. Soon they fumbled
no more, and the red
dots became black.
Finally, the child let the chain go. The midwife pitched forward, her head falling onto the child's
hands. The child
giggled again, her hands reaching for the wrinkled face. They squeezed the skin for a moment, a
violent purple now,
and then, bored with her game, the baby pushed hard upwards. The midwife fell backwards, to
the floor, dead now,
her face still twisted in fear, blood dotting her neck. And in the pram, Desdemona giggled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~